


Oops?

by Zombie_ReiKitti



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, But Also Not That Major, Cliffhangers, Demonic Possession, Don't talk to the voice, Gamer Girl in Thedas, Gen, Hearing Voices, Horror, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Like Torturing These Poor Characters, Mages trying to be Sneaky, Major character death - Freeform, Manhandling, Mention of torture, Minor Character Death, Missing Cole the Cinnamon Bun, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi PoVs, Other Possession, Panic, Panic Attacks, Plot Twists, Seggrit is an asshole, Slack-Jawed Templars, Sneaky Cole, Solas is Fen'Harel, Solas smiles, Something is off with the Herald, Sorry Not Sorry, Swearing, Templars Not Doing Their Jobs, Trigger Warnings, What even was I on when I wrote this, With A Twist, disturbing images, getting dark, implied major character death, mention of burning people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-06-26 06:05:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15657273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombie_ReiKitti/pseuds/Zombie_ReiKitti
Summary: Imagine being transferred to the wonderful world of Thedas. Imagine being a part of the Inquisition. Imagine being able to help the Inquisitor. Now what if it came with a twist? What if it was only your soul that was transferred? What if there wasn't a soul-empty body for you to occupy? What if your soul transferred into the body of someone already soul-occupied? What if you became their pseudo-conscience? Would you help or would you hinder?





	1. Psst! Hey! Hey Listen!

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this awhile back and it has just been sitting collecting dust. (Actually I forgot I wrote this and just found it tonight. Oops) And instead of letting it collect even more dust, I figured I'd give you the chance to read it. This has not been beta'd so if there's any grammatical errors or misspellings, please notify me about them? I'll do a quick edit and correct them.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm just playing in this sandbox.

 

            "Left. Left. Left! Go left dammit!" It didn't appear to help any as she turned _right_ and completely _ignored_ me. I had thought that perhaps she just hadn't heard me, but considering this is the _fourth_ time it had happened, I was pretty certain she was ignoring me. Not that I could really blame her, of course. What would that mean if she did do as I said? (She'd be crazy.) What would happen if she listened to me? (Avoid getting smacked in the face by a 2x4 wooden pole. _Ouch! Looked painful!_ ) What if she talked back at me, to at least tell me to shut it? (She'd look crazy. She didn't want that. Not too much, anyway. Not _yet._ )

            Cries of "Herald!", "Oi!", "Watch it!", " _Shit!_ " were heard from around us. People converged on us like flies on crap. Someone's hands were on the Herald, helping her up, helping- steadying her. Her hands flitted up to her face and came away bloody. A groan later and she was dropping again. _Even more_ cries went up around us. Another hand gripped her arm and, more or less, dragged her to the Healer's cabin. Without much choice, I went along too.

            Whoever this guy was, he was strong. Manhandling the Herald with just one hand on one arm? Definitely got my respect! And maybe a bit of fear, too. If he could handle her with just one hand, what could he do to _me_? At least he had nice hands. Ohhh, he even held open the door! Impressive anyone could do that while manhandling another person! Although... was that a fur cloak? _Maybe he's just a weirdo,_ I shuddered.

            I didn't pay any attention to what the cloaked man, the healer, and the Herald were saying. Well, I listened to the Herald, but that wasn't really by my choice. I just happened to be really close- probably closer than anyone else had ever gotten before. 'Cept maybe that one boy, but I hadn't seen him after that first day. Which was sad. _He_ could _see_ me. _He_ could _hear_ me. That had been _really_ nice. I, actually, really missed it- him.

            _That cute cinnamon bun should come back. We could make tons of inside jokes!_ " _Heehee!_ "  I actually giggled.

            "Shut up!" The Herald, finally, hissed at me.

            "Make me." I toothily grinned at her.

            All I got in response was a low growl, low enough not even the Healer could hear it. Of course, this could be all happening _inside_ , but meh. It was more fun thinking the human Healer just couldn't hear what was happening in his cabin right under his nose. Quite literally. He was hovering over the Herald, checking her head wound, and kept making those clicking noises with his tongue. Almost like a _tsk tsk_ my second mother used to make whenever I did something wrong. This Healer man looked severe enough to become my third mother- _would he be alright with me adopting him as another mother? He's definitely mother hen enough._ While he continued to check on the Herald's health, I realized the Herald had gotten the silence she had wanted as I became lost in my thoughts. I had no idea if she could even hear my thoughts and it was a continuous thing of ignoring me or if she could not hear them and my thoughts were my own to keep. It was unfortunate if the former and rather fortunate if the latter. I was hoping for the latter. There was no indication for the former, at the least.

            "And done! Good as right, Herald!" The Healer announced. "Solas insists on checking your head himself, the daft elf. Can't he even trust the word of a human?" The last part of that was mumbled to himself, but we heard anyway. Elf ears were obnoxious in that way. It was possible Solas the elf even heard it. It seemed his ears were even more sensitive than ours.

            Judging by the scowl on Solas's face when he entered the cabin, I'd venture a guess that, _yes,_ he had heard. I beamed at him. I was pretty sure he had _no idea_ I was even here, but it made the Herald more pleasant to be around whenever Solas was near than not. _Pavlov conditioning at its finest. Let's see if the Herald becomes pleased whenever he's near when I don't beam at him... At least, it'll be entertaining for me._

            Solas placed his hands on either side of the Herald's head- thumbs on either temple- and concentrated. His magic delved into the Herald and then fluctuated.

            Solas made the Herald uncomfortable. Not quite to the same extent that Templars did, but similar enough. There was always the fear that he would figure it out- that he would notice something just a bit _off_. Whereas the Templars would try to silence the oddness, Solas, instead, wanted to _understand_. And it was that curiosity that made the Herald so uncomfortable. She had no idea what Solas would do to sate that curiosity nor what he would do once it was sated.

            His magic passed over me. Whereas I found only warmth, the Herald, however, struggled with the feeling of slime pressing down her spine. Solas murmured comforting words, encouraging stillness for just a bit longer. A few more seconds was all he needed before he retreated from us. His voice was smooth with just a hint of dark undertones. _So beautiful. And his chuckle! Ohhh sooo to die for!_ I giggled to myself. The giggle felt a bit _more_ than usual, though. Solas's eyes widened before he swiftly turned from us, a hint of a smile on his lips. My eyes widened.

            "Did I do that? Did _we_?" I asked the Herald quietly, stunned. I had the distinct feeling the Herald was smiling. A tiny nod was all the answer I received. But it was enough; I was frigging _beaming_! _Radiating_! _Maybe being stuck here wouldn't be as bad as I thought!_ Internally dancing was all I could do to express my sheer happiness.

            Solas paused at the door, gently muttered "Rest well, Herald," and disappeared out the door.

            "Maybe you're right; keeping one close will benefit my goals. Getting one attached to _me_ will prevent any others from looking too closely. It should prevent anyone from questioning my demands," the Herald warmly purred. "Should anyone question me, this will make it easier to convince others to my side. Gain the mage as an ally and make it appear you have authority over him. Put what mages we have at ease since we're _friends_ with one and put Templars at ease knowing you have control over the mages. It will be _much_ easier than that dolt Lucius ever was," She whispered, but it sounded more like a declaration from where I sat.

            "Blackmail?" I asked.

            " _Blackmail_ ," she purred in agreement.

            " _Good._ " My happy smile turned feral. While Solas's voice was rather nice, it wasn't _near_ enough to stop my deep anger (hatred) for him and what he would do before the end. Anything I gleamed from him and learned about him would most _definitely_ be used later. _Just because I'm using Eggy as a Pavlov experiment against the Herald doesn't mean I actually like the fucker. Doesn't mean I actually want him to live. Doesn't mean I'm actually here to help him. But more importantly, I'm pretty sure I just gained the Herald as an ally. Fantastic! Maybe she'll listen to me more often, now. That would make being stuck in her head much more bearable. _

 

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            Convincing the Herald of the benefits of sealing the Breach really boiled down to one question; "What would make your Master most pleased: a properly sealed Breach to tear open again where he'll be able to do whatever it is that he tried doing in the first place or an improperly sealed Breach that will swallow the world before his goals are achieved?"

            It hadn't pleased the Herald. She wanted the world to burn. But she agreed that she would much rather enjoy watching the world burn than to have it be destroyed all at once before it could do any burning.

            In what only seemed like a few hours, the Templars were all packed up and ready to help seal the Breach. The trek up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes seemed to take a toll on some Templars. Not that any of them breathed a single complaint (getting a sharp glare from a tiny elf Herald would probably do that to anyone, to be honest). I kept myself entertained by keeping the Herald entertained. Whispering words of encouragement, softly singing about the end of the world, and coming up with contingency plans seemed to help calm her nerves the most. Especially any advice on what to do should any demons pop out of the Breach as she tried to seal it. (She was unsure if she would be able to fight as the Herald those around us knew her as or if she would be found out. Reassuring her of that fear's irrationality was difficult. In fact, I wasn't too sure I actually succeeded in calming that particular fear- it's not like I actually knew how the sealing would happen, after all.)

            Cassandra and Solas had both come with us- to provide support and cover should any demons come through the Breach. Thus far both were providing advice on how to possibly close the Breach. It wasn't particularly interesting so I didn't particularly pay any attention to it.

            But I should have.

            When the Herald struck out her hand as she had previously on several occasions before  acquiring the Templars, the mark on her hand flickered for a moment, then went inert. It left the Herald looking at her hand in question. It left everyone else around her shifting in either anticipation or annoyance. (They thought she wasn't taking this seriously- they thought she was still _scared_. Scared to silence the Breach, scared it would hurt, scared it wouldn't work. If only they _knew_.)

            "Why isn't it working?!" Her voice was quiet but panicked. Frantically, she was searching inside to find why it had worked so easily before but now refused to.

            Unfortunately, her quiet question had been heard.

            "Calm, da'len," Solas murmured into the Herald's ear. ( _When had he gotten so close?_ ) "You need only to focus."

            "Focus?" The Herald asked with a blank face.

            "Yes, da'len," Solas calmly continued, "Focus on the feel of the mark. Focus on how it feels in comparison to the Breach. Focus on how you want the Breach to close. Focus on closing it. Focus. Focus."

            The Herald closed her eyes, trying to imagine whatever it was the other elf was trying to convey. She was actively trying to feel whatever it was that connected the mark on her hand to the Breach. But... it was always just a hair out of reach. She couldn't reach the mark. She couldn't reach the Breach. _She can't close the Breach._

            Upon that realization, I debated on what to do. On one hand, the world would be torn asunder. On the other hand, the Breach would close and the world would live. Both sides had their perks. If the world died, I wouldn't be stuck anymore. But I would be dead, same as everyone else. If the world lived, I would be stuck still. But still alive. It really wasn't a big brainer when it came down to it, not really.

            Imagining I was inserting myself into the body of the Herald's (think getting into a wet suit), I imagined those hands were mine, and I imagined feeling those hands as mine until the point where it truly felt like they _were mine_. I heard a squawk from somewhere behind me as I did this, but for the moment, I ignored it. From there, I tried doing what Eggy said to do- I tried to _feel_   the Fade and the connection between mark and Breach. And then, I tried to mend it.

            I wasn't sure what to expect if it worked, but I really should have expected it to _hurt._ Just as I really should have expected the pull of the Fade to reach in me and _yank_. I distantly remembered hearing Solas's voice call out, but it faded from my mind as the darkness swarmed in and an eerie ringing silence claimed my hearing.

 

 

 


	2. Envy Should Not Take That Which Is Not His To Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the following scenes are happening roughly at about the same time, just from different perspectives to give you an idea of how people reacted differently to the situation. So it's not always in chronological order. (Well, after Cassandra's POV, it's in chronological order.) This was done in the hopes that you would not just take how one character was disdainful towards other characters for their inaction as that one character just being biased or prejudiced. But also this chapter was done in this way to give you the feeling that a lot can happen in relatively a short amount of time.  
> Also, if you've ever been in a shit ton of pain, have you ever noticed that you don't notice whether you scream, gasp, or shout in pain? Or how you just kinda think about how much it hurts and think "well, at least I'm not screaming" until someone else points out that you ARE screaming? No? OH. Well. Spoiler alert. (And also maybe trigger warning too; it has horror themes, a small amount of gore, and kinda implied disturbing images.)

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            "Herald!"

            "What-!"

            "How-!"

            "No!"

            "NO!!"

            "HERALD!!"

 

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            When the mark on the Herald's hand connected with the large rift in the Temple, Ser Lucas of the Templar Order _never_ thought he'd see the day when the Herald glowed a green just as bright a green as the Fade. It wasn't the just barely glowing effect that most barrier spells had either. No. This was something else entirely. This bright green started from the mark and then grew to envelop the rest of the Herald. Ser Lucas thought it resembled quickly growing moss- completely and utterly covering all of the Herald in green. He only hoped that it wasn't as painful as he imagined growing moss would probably actually be. But at the sight of the Herald's wide-opened mouth and pinched face, he suddenly realized his hope was going unfulfilled. (And his thoughts were probably on the right track for just how much pain the Herald was in at that particular moment, and _that_ absolutely _horrified_ him.)

 

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            Solas was confused. Nothing about the situation made sense. For instance, the Herald. Why was she having trouble _now_ with closing rifts after having closed so many other rifts? What had caused her self-doubt? Why did she need further instruction on how to connect to the rift when she had already had so much practice with it? It made no sense. For another instance, the Breach. It should not be reacting in such a way. Yes, it would hurt to close it, but not to this extent. None of the other rifts had never caused nearly this much pain as the Breach apparently was, if the Herald's currently pinched face was any indication. Were the Templars not using enough willpower? Had the Herald been wrong to ask the Templars for aid in the Inquisition's hour of need? Were the Templars lax in their conviction to aid the Herald? (Looking around, Solas realized that many Templars, indeed, did have slack jaws and horrified gazes. _The Fools_.) But more than that, why was the Breach enveloping the Herald so intimately? It wasn't just enveloping her hand, as per usual when closing a rift, but her _entire_ body- hair included. Such an envision was mesmerizing, he had to admit. With such an envision, he could understand how the Inquisition soldiers had mistaken her as the Herald of Andraste when she first fell out of the Fade all those months ago (assuming she had been glowing in a similar state, of course).

            As Solas paced around to face the Herald, he watched the minute flinches of pain flickering across her face. A twitch here, a twitch there, her mouth silently screaming. And then a squawk came out- wait... her mouth hadn't changed positions so who-?

            All Solas could see was what appeared to be _another_ pair of hands rising up from the Herald's, only the new pair had elongated spindly fingers that did not seem all that enthused about releasing the Herald from its firm grip. _How long has that been there?! Has it always been- Is it... detaching?_

            "Herald!" Solas shouted in warning. (And maybe just a bit in fear and panic, too.)

 

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            Ser Barris had known that closing the Breach could have had some nasty side effects. But even _he_ didn't ever - wouldn't ever - think that closing the Breach would have this effect on the Herald! The green aura permeating around the Herald, that _squawk_ of indignation, that shrill _shriek_ of absolute _pain_ , that _inhuman_ lurch, that- that- that-!

            His mouth fell open in silent _horror_ ; flesh had melted away from the Herald's out-stretched hand. And it continued to melt away. First from her hand, then arm, then shoulder, until her _entire_ back melted and _dripped_ _off_ -

            Ser Barris could not stomach to watch any further. But neither could he tear his gaze elsewhere. He could not even close his eyes to save himself from the sight. He was stuck in the limbo of watching it happen. And then his breath caught.

            Whatever had melted off _moved_.

 

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            Cassandra was less than thrilled about the conviction and the dedication of the Templars at that particular moment. So many were slack-jawed. So many were staring in horrified wonder. So many were _terrified_. And not a damned one did _anything_ to _stop_ the demon from possessing the Herald. Not one damned Silence. Not one damned Smite. Nothing. Just gasping "What-!"s, "How-!"s, and "No!"s.

            In the back of her mind, Cassandra faintly wondered if this was what it was like when Cullen had lived through Kinloch Hold- the all-encompassing fear, the blatant denials of what was actually happening, the disbelief that such a thing could even happen, and the horror of it all.

            In another part of her mind, Cassandra wondered if the Herald would even survive this ordeal or if they should take it as a sign that the Maker had well and truly abandoned them to this Hell. But she had not been trained to let such thoughts distract her from her duty. So with a practiced mental shake, Cassandra drew her sword and prepared a battle cry just as the demon finished melting off of the Herald and slumped into a heap on the ground right behind the Herald's feet.   _An odd way to possess someone... Unless... Had the Herald been possessed already?! No! Oh, please, Maker, NO!!_

            It was wholly unwelcome that the battle cry she thought she would use had instead turned into a loud and piercing cry of   _"NO!!"_  as the demon twisted its body and slashed its claws at the Herald's back.

 

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            The Herald's blood followed the demon's claws in an upward arching spray. It shone sickly in the glow of the Breach. Solas's eyes tracked its arc up towards the heavens and then its descent towards the stone ground. His thoughts recalled the moment within the Healer's cabin some days past- back to when she had surprised him with her quiet laugh at the stupid, _snarky,_ joke he had said. He had been sure she would have ignored it as she always had. But she had laughed. And he thought perhaps the Herald had a sense of humor after all.

            It was just the once. There was no laughter after that moment. But Solas had been smug about it since. Smug and proud. She had not laughed at anyone else's jokes. She had not laughed for anyone else. Just him. _She_ had laughed for _him_. As much as that pleased Solas, it also pleased the wolf just as much. _She_ had laughed at _his_ joke.

            "HERALD!!!" Fen'Harel roared. _She_ was his. She was _his. She_ was _HIS!!_ His magic exploded towards the demon in _absolute_ _rage_.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Shit.  
> Anyway, Solas is really hard to write. But Fen'Harel is super easy to write. Something about angry possessive assholes just comes naturally and is usually really easy to let the words flow. But confused I'm-lying-about-so-much-and-please-don't-notice-my-actual-power-level assholes who are also mad evil geniuses are just super hard to write. It didn't even help to think of him as Deadpool (probably because Deadpool doesn't care if he shows of his actual power level and that flippant attitude is just easier to write, honestly). So there you have it. A bit unhappy still with the Solas bits, but it works well enough for the plot.  
> And if you're trying to find that joke that Solas told in the first chapter, I'll save you the trip: the main POV wasn't paying attention to Solas and so missed the joke. (She was giggling at her own thoughts instead. Poor Solas. Misunderstanding for the win, though!)  
> To clear up any confusion about whether the Breach was closed or not, rest assured, the Breach was closed! The Herald passed out from the pain (from closing the Breach; I really only briefly implied that at the end of chapter 1). All the characters in this Chapter were a bit preoccupied with watching the situation with the Herald unfurl so they kinda didn't really notice that the Breach was closed (that's why I didn't really mention the closing of the Breach anywhere in this chapter; characters have priorities, I guess. "Can't turn away from what's happening to the Herald, holy shit that's a demon, gotta kill the demon, and then maybe later we'll look up and deal with whatever happened with the Breach" is roughly what every one was thinking during this chapter.) I apologize for any confusion! Thank you jennserr for pointing out the confusing bits!  
> Till next time!


	3. Do Not Forget the Bell Signals!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First up: I am SOOOO sorry it's taken me this long to update this! I was expecting to have written this chapter in a day and instead it's taken me about three weeks! And it's definitely a lot longer than what I had originally planned, too! So I guess if I take longer to post the new chapter, it's safe to assume the chapter will be longer? (I make no promises about this. The next chapter has its outline done, now I just gotta flesh it out and fluff it up. :D ) And life has caught up to me with the whole my-freezer-died-this-past-week-and-now-my-place-reeks-something-awful and has left me wishing for a new freezer for my birthday (is this not one of the most adulting things you've ever heard?).
> 
> Second up: It has always bothered me that the night after sealing the Breach, Haven is attacked. I know it takes longer than a day to gather an army together and then have that army march and arrive at its destination. The game doesn't really explain that except to imply that Corypheus had been gathering his army since the moment the Herald decided to go for the Mages or Templars. But then, how did he know to start gathering them right at that moment? I know, someone will probably say "Magic" or something, but for the purposes of this fanfiction, Corypheus did NOT know to gather his army of mages until AFTER the Breach had been sealed. Like just imagine he looked up at the Breach at the exact moment it was sealed and knew from that point on that the supposed Herald of Andraste would be a thorn in his side and that's the moment he decided to come wipe her out of existence. And also for the purposes of this fanfiction, it's gonna take longer than a day for Corypheus and his army to reach Haven. So the Herald has some time to rest and Haven has time to get a celebration planned and in full-swing before being invaded by Corypheus. (It's safe to assume it takes about a week for Corypheus to attack. Just keep that in mind, yeah?)
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger Warnings Ahead: Depression. Despair. Hopelessness. Helplessness. Fear/Panic. Hints of Self-Doubt. Hints of Self-Depreciation. Brief mention of Torture. Descriptions of Violence and Gore. Character Deaths. Seggrit being an asshole. (Gets a bit dark and heavy in this one, consider yourselves warned.)

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            The trek back to Haven was somber and quiet. What few Templars remained conscious half-dragged/half-carried their injured and unconscious Templar fellows. Everyone had been bloodied during the battle against that demon. None of them could believe that such a fearsome demon had come out of the Herald. None of them wanted to think too long or hard about just how long that demon had been possessing the Herald- had it been just a few days since she was first possessed? Or had it been longer? For instance, had she been possessed since she gained the Templars' aid? Or since she visited the mages in Redcliffe? Or had she always been possessed and they never took notice? The questions were uncomfortable and they had no answers. Only the Herald and the Maker had those answers, and the Herald was unconscious and the Maker was silent. Maker only knew if she would even wake. Maker only knew just how long the Herald had been fighting against the possession- if she even fought against the possession.

            The Templars steered clear of the apostate, Solas. The rage he had displayed and the vicious sting to his ice spells had made it abundantly clear to all in the Temple just how dearly he cherished the Herald. None of the Templars wanted to earn his ire; they were not even sure that they could cast a powerful enough Smite or Silence to smother his magic. It made them wary. None wanted to get close in the event someone said the wrong thing and set him off. It was not a pleasant thing to acknowledge nor to accept, but the Templars were willing, if only so as to stay alive.

            Solas kept pace next to the stretcher carrying the Herald. His hand was upon her chest always making sure her heart still had its beat. Quiet and fervent whispers tumbled from his lips. Whether he was whispering healing spells or pleas unto whichever gods he worshipped, no one knew. And no one asked. Everyone figured Solas's whispered words were for the Herald - and _only_ the Herald's ears.

            While Solas's display of power back at the Temple put Cassandra on edge ( _Another powerful mage to keep an eye on_ , Cassandra privately groused to herself), it also put Cassandra at ease knowing the Herald had such a powerful mage watching over her. It released some tension from Cassandra's shoulders knowing the Herald had quite the devoted protector. Cassandra had known that Solas could fight adequately from the times they had spent in the Hinterlands, but now she truly began to understand just how much she had underestimated the elven apostate. It was a mistake, to be sure, and it was not one she would repeat. (At least, she hoped she would not repeat underestimating Solas again.)

            There were a few slips and slides down the uneven trail, but no major injuries occurred; only minor bumps, bruises, and scrapes were added to the many already existing injuries. The moans and groans of the injured were done quietly- no one wanted to be the one to break the mood that had settled around them.

            The whole party heard the bells in the near distance signaling that they had been spotted by a scout at the gated bridge leading into Haven. They heard several whoops and hollers from the scouts and soldiers posted at the gates celebrating their safe return. The party did not find it within themselves to join in the others' happy delight. The price of sealing the Breach was still too fresh in their minds.

            It was not until the party began stepping across the bridge that the celebrating people even took notice that things were not as merry and relieved as they had first thought. One by one the people noticed the somber mood. One by one the celebrations were cut short. One by one the people took notice of the injured Templars and bloodied Inquisition agents (Cassandra and Solas). One by one the people gasped at the sight of the Herald being carried on a stretcher. One by one the people took notice of the elven apostate with his whispered words and healing spells. One by one the people cried out. Confusion marked most of their faces. Fear marked a few of their faces, but with the Herald's continued unconscious state, fear was spreading to all those whom had gathered. Demands of what had happened were whispered at first but soon grew into a roaring cacophony. Everyone wanted to know what had caused such an event that only the Herald was on a stretcher while the rest of the party had injuries typical of a battle. They did not notice Solas's hand had stopped glowing bright with healing magic. Nor did they notice his whispered words had stopped tumbling from his lips. But Cassandra did.

            "Solas?" Cassandra prompted, loudly. It caught the attention of everyone gathered on the bridge. They all fell silent, anxiously awaiting for the apostate's verdict of the Herald's health.

            Solas's hands fell to his sides as though the life had suddenly left them. His eyes were downcast but rose to meet the Seeker's. "She is healed. Her life is no longer in danger," he paused, "but I do not know how well her mind held up against that demon."

            Gasps came from those who had not been with the party at the sealing of the Breach. "Demon? What demon?" were the whispered questions now. They looked at each other in hopes of finding the answer but only blank looks (from their fellow Inquisition scouts and soldiers) and only wretchedly shameful looks (from the Templars) answered them.

            Cassandra gave a brief nod to Solas. Though, a question had been nagging at her throughout the entire trek to Haven, and she wondered if perhaps Solas had an answer. "Solas, do you know what type of demon it was?"

            All those in the party to seal the Breach had been wondering about that. The demon, when it was finally seen for what it was, had long spindly limbs- unnaturally long for any human, and it had been bent over backwards so its head came out from between its legs, and its face-! Its face had been nothing but a mouth. It had no eyes- not even sockets for eyes. It had no nose. Its face did not have the room for a nose. It only had a wide gaping mouth full of teeth ready to chomp into its prey. It was grotesque to look at even without it melting off the Herald. Adding the red splotchy skin and the melted skin that still _dripped_ whenever it moved, it was a nightmare the Templars prayed would never visit their dreams.

            Solas hesitated a moment before breathing out "Envy" in a quiet declaration. Those who heard it went still, their breaths caught somewhere in their chests.

            "No!" Came the quiet denial.

            "Maker, please no!" Came the horrified pleas.

            Cassandra, along with the Templars, had stilled in their stunned horror. Envy demons were rare. Not many came into the Waking World, but those that had, had wrecked havoc. Mostly because once the Envy demon had possessed someone, it was only a matter of time for it to figure out what type of person it had possessed. It was only a matter of time for the demon to know how to act like the person it had possessed. That was what made it _very_ difficult to differentiate whether the person had been possessed or was just finally letting their true colors shine. Unless the possessed person had someone close to them who would know if they were acting off or out of character, it was likely the demon would go months or even years without ever being discovered.

            In all of her years as a Seeker, Cassandra had never encountered an Envy demon before. She had heard the stories, however: Friends, family members, lovers, people suddenly changing their attitudes overnight- doing things no one ever thought them capable of doing and ruining their supposed loved ones' lives for no apparent reason. With those stories returning to the front of her mind, Cassandra wondered, not for the first time, just how _long_ the Herald had been possessed. She also wondered if she would even know the difference between the possessed Herald and what the Herald was like before being possessed. It was an uncomfortable realization that it was _very_ possible that Cassandra had never even known the Herald as she had been before she became possessed. _What if the Herald attended the Conclave while possessed? Has everything been for naught?_

            While Cassandra was occupied with her thoughts, the rest of those on the bridge had passed the knowledge about the Envy demon around to each other. More horrified gasps had been had. Many had been silenced into stunned shock with slack jaws and unseeing eyes.

            "Has anyone ever survived being possessed by an Envy demon?" One of the smaller Templars managed to squeak out. Everyone, including Cassandra and Solas, turned to stare at him. It was a question they had not thought of yet. But now that it had been asked, they all turned their gazes to Cassandra.

            "I- I- I do not know," she admitted, her head bowed in shame for not researching such a point ever before. Now she wished she had convinced her apprentice to have joined the Inquisition; he always did have that knack for researching obscure topics. It was about time she wrote a letter to him anyway. She would ask for more information on Envy demons when she had a moment to spare for writing letters. Hopefully this time, he would send an answer back.

            Everyone, then, turned their gazes to Solas. _Please, please tell us good news_ , their eyes seemed to plea. Solas had none to give. His lips thinned, his eyes narrowed, and for the briefest moment, his eyes turned a most peculiar shade of amber before resuming their usual steel blue hue.

            "She will live." He said at last. It raised morale considerably. But- "I do not know if she will wake."

            Choked sobs met his words. Despair had settled in their hearts and utterly _reigned_.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

            The Commander had gone to painstakingly lengths to drill the different bell signals into all of the Inquisition troops. He had had these drills practiced by the troops at least once every week since the beginning of the Inquisition- including the veteran warriors, if only to touch up on their knowledge. It was his belief that with these bell signals, Haven (and consequently he, himself) would have enough warning to prepare for any trouble coming through the gates. He had specifically posted the seasoned warriors to the gates that particular week so there would be no surprises coming into Haven from the gates. ( _They know their duties; they will not be deterred by anything,_ he thought to himself when he barked out their postings for the next few days.) If only he had known how the day had turned out for the Herald and her team, then he would have assigned that one particular recruit ( _What was his name? Jib? Jon? Jobsworth?),_ whom was a major stickler for policies regardless of any emergencies, to the gate duty as well.

 

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            Haven had been decorated in their absence. Quickly-made banners hung over every entrance, mugs with ale were sporadically left in strategic places for soldiers to quickly take a swig from, the training grounds were full of laughter and recruits dancing their pretty little hearts out, the horse-master was humming joyfully to himself as he braided the Herald's horse's mane-

            Cassandra did a double take at that. Horse-master Dennet truly was braiding a horse's mane while humming. If she wasn't so downtrodden, she might have laughed. As it was, she merely looked away. ( _Why had they not considered taking the horses with them? Carrying the wounded back would have been so much easier with horses!_ Cassandra realized just a bit too late.) Only for her eyes to meet Adan's as he walked down the steps (if he were going the other way, the stairs would have taken him into Haven proper). She had the wonderful privilege of watching Adan's face morph from delight straight into disbelief at the sight of them and then into shock at the sight of the Herald being carried past him towards the healers' tents.

            "Into my cabin!" Adan barked at the Templars carrying the Herald, after he had shaken himself from his stunned stupor. Without a word, the Templars followed his instructions and left the rest of the party behind to deal with the aftermath of having the Herald carried through all of Haven until she had reached the alchemist's cabin where she was carefully placed onto a spare bed. By the time the Herald had reached Adan's cabin, half of Haven had heard what had transpired and the other half had stopped their celebrations in order to find out what had changed the merry mood of the town so swiftly.

            Cassandra was _not_ looking forward to explaining what had happened while closing the Breach to the advisors. But it needed to be done, and so she would do it.

 

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            "What do you mean _melted off_?!" Cullen shouted, hands wildly gesturing about.

            "Exactly as I said, Commander. The demon melted out and off of the Herald, and _then_ attacked," Cassandra reiterated. Her arms had crossed themselves at some point during the oral report, and she kept shifting from one foot to the other. Her frustration at _still_ explaining the events that had happened at the Breach was wearing thin on her patience.

            "Are you sure the demon wasn't trying to possess her at the Breach?" Cullen pressed, disbelief still clearly heard in his voice.

            "Oh yes, demons melt out of the people they're trying to possess," Leliana groused sarcastically. Her eyes had narrowed throughout the report, giving her the steely look of a Spymaster hard at work trying to figure something out.

            "I'm fairly certain she was possessed _before_ we tried sealing the Breach," Cassandra said in her serious no-non-sense tone. She was not giving any ground to Cullen's hope that the Envy demon had only possessed the Herald for a short amount of time at the Breach. As nice as the Envy demon only showing up at the sealing of the Breach would have been, Leliana was right; demons don't possess people by melting out (or off) of them first. Which only left the conclusion that the Herald had _already_ been possessed. But the question of when _exactly_ she became possessed remained.

            Cullen pinched his nose bridge tightly in irritation. "Maker's breath!" he swore. He couldn't believe it! How could he have missed it?! _He_ was a Templar, for Maker's sake! _He_ was trained to spot Abominations! So, how in the blasted name of the Maker did he not _see_ it?! He began to pace in his frustration.

            "Will the Herald be alright?" Josephine timidly asked, looking at each person in the War Council Room with open concern- particularly at Cullen whom looked like he was trying to wear a new hole in the stone floor to match the hole in the wall.

            "Solas says she will live," Cassandra sighed, "but we don't know if she will wake."

            "Nor will we be certain of her sound of mind should she wake," Leliana added. It only added to the hopelessness (and helplessness) in ways none of them wanted to think about, much less admit to; Josephine's shoulders slumped forward and curled into herself; Cullen stopped his pacing only to pinch his nose bridge more firmly while tightly shutting his eyes closed and swearing under his breath; and Cassandra stood straighter and exuded anger in waves.

            After a few more moments of digesting the news of sealing the Breach and its costly price, Josephine walked around the table muttering, "We must keep this to ourselves- we cannot let this get out! This would _ruin_ our reputation!" She continued muttering to herself out of the War Council Room and into her office, her fingers already itching to begin writing soothing letters to various nobles explaining the Herald's sudden 'sickness'. _Better to let the nobles and everyone think the Herald is merely overcome with sickness rather than having them all know the truth,_ Josephine reasoned with herself even though she felt slightly sick at knowing the truth of the matter. _The Herald, an Abomination? Maker, take her to your side,_ Josephine sobbed into her hand as she tried to keep her writing steady.

            Cassandra and Cullen quietly followed behind the Ambassador out of the War Council Room, neither wanting to swear too loudly while still within the Ambassador's hearing. (It was something they had decided upon not long after meeting the Ambassador; keep her ears and mind as innocent as they possibly could- even if it meant not swearing in her presence or censoring how _detailed_ their reports were whenever she was within hearing shot.)

            "The Herald _has_ been acting odd lately..." Leliana trailed off into her thoughts as she, too, exited the War Council Room after the other advisors. She kept her thoughts to herself as she entered her tent just outside the Chantry. _Now, let's see what we have here,_ she thought as her hands reached for files and reports, intent on finding the truth of _when_ an Envy demon could have had the opportunity to possess the Herald.

 

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****

Commander,

Did you know the Hinterlands have bears? I had _no_ idea! They're so fluffy!

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander,

Why are there so. Many. Bears. In the Hinterlands?! Can't they stop breeding?! Anyway, is it bear hunting season yet?

Ellana Lavellan

P.S. We're sending all of the bear hides we've "gathered" back to Haven for Harritt to use as he wants.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander,

Horse Master Dennet will only help us if we help build some watchtowers in the area. Can you do something about that?

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander,

Corporal Vale is sooooo nice! He's helping the refugees feel like they're doing something to help people! Even though they're just standing around to make it seem like the Crossroads are better shielded against bandits than it really is. Still need a healer though.

Ellana Lavellan

P.S. Ritts is funny.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander Cullen,

Corporal Vale has recruited local refugees to help protect the Crossroads. He is an adequate choice for doing his duty to help these people.

Cassandra Pentaghast

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Leliana,

The Herald has recruited an elven scout, Ritts. She's on her way to you now.

Cassandra Pentaghast

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander,

QUNARI ARE HUUUUUUGE!! The Iron Bull could squish me with one hand! Do you think the Iron Bull could squish a bear with his bare hands? (Haha, kill a bear with his bare hands, haha, so funny cause it's a pun!)

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander Cullen, Ambassador Montilyet, and Leliana,

The Iron Bull and his Chargers have been recruited to the Inquisition. The Iron Bull has offered to become the Herald's bodyguard while his Chargers are willing to do whatever task is given to them. Speak with "Krem" for further ideas on how to use the Chargers.

Josephine, they will work out their payroll with you. Be ready for it.

Leliana, the Iron Bull is a Ben-Hassrath agent. Read all of his reports before sending them onwards to the Qun.

Cassandra Pentaghast

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Leliana,

We have found the missing scouts' bodies. We have found the ones responsible for their deaths. It should please you to know the Herald dealt with the person responsible for ordering their deaths; he will not be an issue any further. The rest of his group has sworn fealty to the Herald and will continue patrolling in this area under the Inquisition's flag.

The names of all the lost scouts have been included at the end of this letter.

Cassandra Pentaghast

Names of the fallen:

XXXX XXXX

XXXXX XXXX

XXXX XXXXXX

XXXXXX XXX

XXXX XXXXX

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander,

Do you know just how hard it is to kill the mabari? It's really hard!

Varric tells me I should apologize for killing the mabari because you're Fereldan and Fereldans like mabari. But why do you like mabari when they can easily kill you?

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander Cullen, Ambassador Montilyet, and Leliana,

The gathering of the Clerics seemed to have worked as well as Mother Giselle said it would.

Lord Seeker Lucius has publicly denounced the Chantry and have abandoned Val Royeaux. Why Lord Seeker Lucius has decided this course of action is unknown to me. I have hope he can still be reasoned with. Perhaps we can find something that will pique his interest so that he will at least still listen to us and our cause. We just need to find where the Templars have marched to.

Cassandra Pentaghast

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander,

I had NO IDEA the Templars could leave the Chantry and go off on their own! Or... can they actually do that? Does that not go against their Templar beliefs? Seems like they will no longer listen to the Inquisition, so I guess going to the mages is our only choice now?

Ellana Lavellan

P.S. I have received an invitation to Madam de Fer's salon in a few days. We will stay in Val Royeaux for a few days more so that we may attend this salon.

P.P.S. Friends of Red Jenny have allied with the Inquisition. Their leader, Sera?, is... interesting. She's very confusing. Are all elves born in the alienages like Sera?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander Cullen, Ambassador Montilyet, and Leliana,

The Herald has recruited Madam de Fer, a First Enchanter. She oversees the loyal mages, and will be bringing them with her when she arrives in Haven.

The Herald has also recruited an elven archer named Sera. She is a part of the Friends of Red Jenny group. I do not know why the Herald has recruited her.

Cassandra Pentaghast

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander Cullen,

We ran into a rift at the gates of Redcliffe that could distort time. This time magic is being caused by the Tevinter magister, Gereon Alexius. His son, Felix, and his son's friend, Dorian, warned us about the time magic. It is very unstable and very dangerous. We cannot leave this dangerous foe in Redcliffe unchecked. We do not need another Breach happening elsewhere.

Cassandra Pentaghast

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander,

The free mages have enslaved themselves to a Tevinter magister by the name of Gereon Alexius. I do not like the way he looked at me. It was as if I was nothing more than a piece of meat for him to eat. I am still shuddering from the thought of it.

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander,

I have recruited a tranquil named Clemence. He wants to be useful. Will you put him onto potion making duty or something? He makes me uncomfortable. His eyes... they're just so... dead. I shudder to think on them.

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Leliana,

We have found the Grey Warden. We are bringing him back to Haven with us. I pray he can give you the answers you seek.

Cassandra Pentaghast

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander,

Do _all_ Grey Wardens have beards? Wouldn't the beards get in the way of staying clear of darkspawn blood? Do Grey Wardens have to take extra care that no darkspawn blood gets into their beards?

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander,

The bears have found us again. They are still just as hard to kill as they were before. And there are just as many as before too! They really need to stop breeding!

We ran into some bandits. We found their hideout and have dealt with them. They had a key to an old dwarven thaig though. We have decided to check it out before returning to Haven. The Grey Warden, Blackwall, is very good at fighting with a sword.

Just how many wild mabari are there in Fereldan?! Do Fereldans just breed their mabari and then release them into the wild??

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander,

We have made it to Therinfal Redoubt FINALLY. The nobles we are travelling with are pricks and they TALK WAY TOO DAMN MUCH. They keep snubbing me for being Dalish. Do I really have to listen to them all the time? Or next time someone gets the idea to have me travel with any nobles, can we not?

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

To Whom It May Concern,

The Templars have been ingesting red lyrium and have turned into monsters. They are not reconcilable nor do they seem to want to have us as allies. I have conscripted the remaining unaffected Templars to our cause. While not eager about the decision, they will obey it.

Ser Delvin Barris and the other newer Templar-recruits will return to Haven with us. The other senior-most Templars will come to Haven at a later date after they have sorted out various requisitions and whatever else needs to be done before joining us.

Herald of Andraste,

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander Cullen, Ambassador Montilyet, and Leliana,

The Templars have been ingesting red lyrium instead of their usual lyrium draughts. They have since turned into abominations. Only a select few of the newer recruits have remained unaffected. Those unaffected have been conscripted to the Inquisition.

Be on the lookout for more Templars infected with the red lyrium. Varric reports that those affected will claim to hear voices and other odd things. If any Templars claim to hear voices or other such crazy things, quarantine them, and stop their lyrium draughts _immediately_! Those affected with red lyrium are _not_ friendlies!

We need to find out where the red lyrium is coming from and destroy it. Varric has more ideas on that.

Cassandra Pentaghast

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

To Whom It May Concern,

Ser Delvin Barris has green eyes. They're almost the same shade as the Breach. They're so... pretty.

Herald of Andraste,

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

To Whom It May Concern,

We are bringing back a sample of the red lyrium from Therinfal Redoubt to study. We should know how it works and how to handle it. To get rid of it more safely, of course. Prepare a tent so we can store it more safely and post a guard to keep watch over it. We don't want any of it getting into the wrong hands, after all.

Herald of Andraste,

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

To Whom It May Concern,

On our way back to Haven, we stumbled into an ex-templar and his tranquil friend. They both have studied the red lyrium and have offered to help us. I have agreed to their terms and they have joined our cause. As per their terms, they are to stay separate from the other Templars; the ex-templar, Samson, does not wish to put his former peers off-kilter by having them stay so near a tranquil. Prepare a cabin for Samson and his tranquil friend to stay in during their stay in Haven.

Herald of Andraste,

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander Cullen,

The Herald has recruited Samson and his tranquil friend, Maddox. They both know too much about the red lyrium and all of its uses. Be cautious of them. I do not advise trusting them with much of anything, despite the Herald's claims that they only wish to help. Keep an eye on them.

Cassandra Pentaghast

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

To Whom It May Concern,

Both Samson and Maddox have decided to stay in the Hinterlands to help Corporal Vale recruit the refugees to our cause. They have also decided to stay in the Hinterlands to try to help wean Samson off of the regular lyrium- he no longer wishes to be addicted to it. Maddox believes he has found a potion that will help with the withdrawal symptoms, but agrees that keeping away from other Templars and their lyrium draughts should help with Samson's ability to overcome his addiction. If this potion truly does help with the withdrawal symptoms, Maddox has agreed to share his findings with the Inquisition and help make the potion for any Templars wanting to stop their lyrium draughts. In such an event, they will join us in Haven so no Templar has to travel to the Hinterlands to receive the potion.

The former request to have a cabin ready for them in Haven is null and void now. Please feel free to use that cabin for someone else.

Herald of Andraste,

Ellana Lavellan

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Commander Cullen,

We are nearing Haven, please have lyrium draughts prepared for the Templars when we arrive. We will be closing the Breach in a fortnite.

Cassandra Pentaghast

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            "Hm? What's this?" Leliana asked herself, pausing on the next to last report sent in before the Herald had returned from gaining the Templars' aid. "Has the Herald always signed her name with _Herald of Andraste_?" Leliana mused aloud.

            Shuffling once more through the reports, she picked a report from the very early days of the Inquisition and held up next to the last report the Herald had sent. There were a few differences between them. The most notable difference was the way the Herald addressed the report and how she signed the report. In the earlier report, the Herald had addressed the report to the Commander whereas in the later report, the Herald had addressed the report much more formally. It was very similar to how she had signed the reports; whereas before she had only signed with her name, now she had signed with her title before signing her name. The other differences in how the Herald had written her reports was another cause for concern. No one changed how they wrote on such short notice, unless it was written by two separate people. These differences were enough to give Leliana pause.

            "I wonder..." Leliana mused again, "when did this change occur?"

            Going through the reports once again proved fortuitous; the reports showed a major difference in writing from before the Herald went to meet with the Templars and after she had conscripted them.

            "How curious." She muttered, excitement building in her chest.

            "What's curious?" Scout Harding, one of her most trusted agents, asked.

            "Do you know whether the Herald has always asked questions to the Commander in her reports?" Leliana asked Scout Harding, knowing the agent would not lie to her. She had no reason to lie to such an off-the-wall question, after all. (And if she did lie, Leliana was sure she would know of it- she knew her agents too well for any of them to lie to _her_ convincingly.)

            "Hmmm..." the scout hummed. "Well, I know the Herald is really curious about most things. She always asked the Seeker and Varric questions about the area or whatever caught her interest. I'm guessing her Dalish clan didn't interact much with humans since most of her questions revolved around human customs."

            Leliana blinked at that new information before nodding her head. "Thank you, Scout Harding. Please carry on."

            Scout Harding nodded at her superior, grabbed some requisitions for Threnn, and left the tent.

            _So whatever happened that led to the Herald becoming possessed happened at Therinfal Redoubt. At least the Herald hasn't been possessed long, then. But... what did those Templars do to our Herald exactly? How did the Templars even have an Envy demon on hand to even consider having it possess anyone? Or was the Envy demon already possessing a Templar? Or was it just posing itself as one of the senior Templars? Who shall I ask to find out?_ Leliana thought to herself. Turning around to the other scout agent in the tent with her, she gave the order to have the senior-most Templar that had been brought to Haven from Therinfal Redoubt be brought to her. The agent saluted her and left the tent to go find that soon-to-be-tortured Templar. Leliana turned back to the reports on her desk. _We will find out what happened exactly, Herald. I give you my word. Let's see how long a Templar can go without lyrium before cracking and telling me what I want to know._

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

            Josephine leaned back in her wing-tailed chair and sighed. Her hand hurt from writing so many letters explaining that the Herald was only merely ill with something she had caught on one of her adventures and would be back to meet with visiting nobles soon. It left a foul taste in her mouth to blatantly lie like this, but she feared the consequences if it ever got out that the Herald of Andraste had been possessed. She could just imagine it now: Herald of Andraste leading heretical Inquisition order because the demon inside ordered it. She shook her head to get rid of that image. Instead of getting straight back into her work, Josephine thought back to all the times she had the Herald stay over for a chat. She thought back over all the times the Herald had regaled Josephine with tales of out-thinking the humans whom had wandered too close to the Lavellan clan's aravels, or the times when the Lavellan clan wandered too close to human settlements, or the first time Ellana had ever met a dwarf merchant. The Herald had such a sweet smile on her face remembering those tales. It had saddened Josephine when the Herald had not been able to find such time again to spend it chatting with her after the Herald had conscripted the Templars. Josephine would not ever admit to anyone but herself that she had been looking forward to hearing the Herald's take on how the nobles had behaved, and the tales the Herald might have told about how she had gained the Templars' aid.

            It pained Josephine to think that that smile and that gentleness in the Herald was fake- had been faked by the demon to get her, Josephine, to trust the Herald more. Josephine wanted to continue believing that those tales had come from the Herald herself, but for the sake of the Inquisition, she was required to disbelieve everything the Herald had said or done before closing the Breach- including disbelieving all of those wonderful tales about the Lavellan clan.

            It caused such an _ache_ in Josephine's chest just to consider that the entire Inquisition and _everything_ they have done to close the Breach, find those responsible, and give aid to so many people had been done to further a _demon's_ ambitions. It was such an ache that it truly was no surprise to her that she had tears streaming down her cheeks and dripping onto her shaking hands.

            After awhile of quietly crying to herself, Josephine pulled herself back together and went back to work writing comforting letters that she prayed kept the masses in the dark. Or at least, Josephine would have gone back to work if only her eyes had not strayed to the inconspicuous gift sitting in the corner of her desk. It was a box of chocolates specially ordered for this day- the day when the Herald closed the Breach. It was supposed to be a gift for the Herald for making it back from sealing the Breach in one piece. It was supposed to be a gift where Josephine would share it with the Herald for a job well done. But now it was a reminder that sealing the Breach had not gone as planned nor as they had hoped for. It was a reminder that their precious Herald had been possessed- had been tainted by a demon- that whatever good the Herald had accomplished thus far, it was all tainted by the demon's influence. These reminders were enough to send Josephine into a flurry of painful heartache once again. She pushed her work aside and flung her hands over her face and _wept_.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

****

            Cullen's fist came down hard and fast onto his desk causing it to shake and rattle. Though he barely noticed how doing such a thing caused his hand to throb and ache.

            "I should have been there with her! I could have- no, I should have protected her!" He quietly roared into his hands when they had covered his face in his frustration. "Has this all been for naught?" He wondered aloud. No one, of course, answered him.

            He wondered, not for the first time, when the Herald had become possessed and whether or not he even would have been able to do anything about it. He thought he would have tried protecting her at the least, and taken her place at the worst. If only he _knew_ when he should have been protecting her! Had the demon possessed her while she was in the Hinterlands- when she had rooted out the mages hiding in the Witchwood? Or had it possessed her when she had dealt with those bandits on the Storm Coast? Or... Heaven forbid, had it possessed her sometime during her tenure to gain the Templars' aid? It was driving him insane- this unknowing.

            Cullen tried to stop thinking of all the different times the demon could have had ample time to possess the Herald, but each time he thought he had stopped, something else would set him off again. For instance, remembering her latest report; she had somehow stumbled upon Samson of all people, and recruited him. Why Samson was even in the Hinterlands in the first place bewildered him. The last he had heard of Samson was that he had been slinking around Kirkwall looking for anyone to sell lyrium to him. Although Samson could have had the demon in his possession and then had it possess the Herald when she was unaware of the danger. But... That made no sense. Cassandra had been there. If any such demon had been there, Cullen had no doubt that Cassandra would have dealt with it before it could have possessed anyone, particularly if it tried possessing the Herald. So that possibility, at least, was out. It still left the other possibilities viable, however.

            Looking around his tent in another attempt to think of anything else, Cullen's eyes fell upon the inconspicuous gift laying on his desk. He had gotten it made for the Herald as a gift for a job well done after she had closed the Breach (assuming she was able to close the damned thing, anyway). It had cost him quite the pretty sovereign to have bought just the materials for it, and even more royals to have Harritt make a custom order. But Cullen thought it was well worth it. And he knew Harritt made good arms and armor so it wasn't as if his money was being wasted. The gift was a dagger made from dawnstone, and it was better than anything the Herald currently had in her possession. Cullen knew it wasn't much, but it was something _he_ could give her.

            In thinking about the dagger led Cullen to begin thinking about the exact reasons he had thought of to even have it made in the first place. If anyone bothered to ask, he would have told them it was just a gift to congratulate the Herald on closing the Breach. A bit weak as a reason, but it was still within reason- after all he was fairly certain Josephine had gotten her a gift as well. The truth that Cullen would never dream of telling another soul was that the Herald had impressed him with her eagerness to help others and in her earnest desire to get to know him better. He knew it was an odd thing to reward someone for, but not many people had been all that interested in getting to know _him_ after Kirkwall, much less after what had happened at Kinloch Hold. So he had the dagger made, and had been planning on giving it to the Herald sometime after she returned from closing the Breach. But now, after everything with the Breach and the demon... Cullen wasn't sure the Herald would ever awaken to use the custom-ordered dagger. Which only led him to begin thinking about that blasted demon once again.

            _Why can't my thoughts think about anything else? Must I continue in this endless cycle?_ Cullen whined in his head, his hands mussing up his hair in his aggravation. As he continued his circular thoughts, his mind finally relented and gave him something new to think about: his flirting attempts with the Herald. It wasn't anything extravagant, but he had sent her small smiles every so often, and he had realized that he probably spent way too much time staring at her from across the War Table. (And he probably spent way too much time staring at her behind each time she walked by.) He remembered saying something witty once about how there was always work to be done and how she had smiled encouragingly at him. It had warmed him and had been the highlight of his week. It warmed him still whenever he thought about it. Thinking back on it, that had happened right before she had left for Therinfal Redoubt.

            He frowned. He counted back through the past two weeks. Not once had the Herald smiled at him since returning from Therinfal Redoubt. Not once had she stopped by to talk to him- not even to ask one of her odd questions about humans and she hadn't even returned any quips to his attempted flirting. Not once had she even just looked at him. His eyes widened.

            _Just how long has she been possessed?_ Realizing he still did not have an answer to that, he groaned and ran his hands over his face again. His hands throbbed in protest and he finally took notice of them. They were red and swollen. _Perhaps hitting my desk wasn't the best course of action_ , he thought. _Though it did help alleviate some frustration at this situation. I just wish I had been there when she had needed help. I wish I had noticed the differences in her behavior sooner. I wish I had done something about it sooner. If I had just known-_ Cullen let out an angry sigh and slumped further into a slouch over his desk. _But why would I have known? It's not like she even really speaks to me- only the odd question about how often humans bathe, whether or not humans even eat meat, or some weird thing about Templars she heard a rumor about._ His hands mussed up his hair. _Why would she even mention being possessed? It's not like the demon would have let her mention it anyway. The demon-_

            His eyes widened upon realizing he had been flirting with the Herald for the past few months and he had no way of knowing whether he had been flirting with the actual Herald or if he had always been flirting with the demon. He groaned his displeasure at that thought. He slumped down into his chair and, once again, covered his face with his hands. It was an unsettling thought. Very disturbing too. It reminded him entirely way too much about what had happened at Kinloch Hold. The demons there had taunted and tempted him with flirtations using Amell's face, body, and voice. He really did not need to add the Herald to that particular recurring nightmare.

            He did his best to steer his thoughts to happier times, but his thoughts were persistent in convincing him that he had been flirting with a demon for the entire duration of the Inquisition. And he had not even known it- he had not even _noticed_ there even was a demon possessing the Herald. Him, a Templar, not noticing a demon right under his nose? He would never live it down if it ever got out, much less be respected again or have any of his commands followed. Centimeter by centimeter, he slowly grew to hate himself for not noticing it- for not helping her in her time of need.

 

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            "How long do you think the Herald will rest for?"

            "Will the Herald be alright?"

            "The Herald will wake, right?"

            "The Herald had so much blood on her- she didn't lose too much, did she?"

            Varric was getting tired of hearing the townspeople asking each other these questions day in and day out. It had already been four days since they had returned to Haven after closing the Breach. The Herald was no closer to waking now as she had been then. She still slept peacefully on. Anyone who bothered to visit Adan and pester him about her health knew that. And as Chuckles had so eloquently said before (according to the Seeker), the Herald was in alive and well, we just didn't know if she would ever awaken again. _But_ , Varric reminded himself, _it's not like these townspeople were there on the bridge when Chuckles mentioned that nor were they in the War Room when Cassandra explained it to the Inner Circle and the advisors._ He sighed. _It's been four days, and she's still unconscious._

            "Come and get your decorations to celebrate the closing of the Breach!" Varric heard from across the way. He gazed towards that still-trying-to-be-chipper voice.  _At least Seggrit's still trying to be cheerful- or at least still trying to make a profit off of the Breach getting sealed. Don't know where he finds it in himself to still try._

            "Come celebrate the closing of the Breach!" Came a quivering voice from the nearby tavern. Varric turned his head to see who it was this time trying to get patrons to buy celebratory ale. _Flissa, poor girl._ She had tear tracks staining her cheeks, and her eyes were puffy and red. She'd been crying over the news again, apparently. _Has she even stopped crying since first hearing the news? Doesn't look like it._

            Varric turned back to his mug of cold ale. He had gotten it earlier in the day just to have something to do (and maybe to hear some word of good news). But now he was sitting outside of his tent, near the campfire, and wallowing in his grief and self-depreciation. He knew it was stupid to hate himself over what had happened, but he couldn't help it. He had probably spent the most time with the Herald and even _he_ had not noticed anything was amiss with her. The most he had to go off of that something had changed was her attitude towards Chuckles; sometime in the last two weeks, those two elves had gotten close. He wasn't sure _when_ it had happened, just that it _had_ happened.

            Varric remembered the first time he had heard the recount of what had happened at the Breach from one of the Templars. He hadn't believed it, of course. _Chuckles_ getting angry and having his magic explode out towards the demon? He had scoffed. But hearing that Chuckles had spent the entire trek back to Haven, not only healing the Herald, but also whispering to her? It had left Varric gobsmacked. Never in a million years did Varric ever think the bald elf would be romantic enough to whisper to anyone- not even to someone on their perceived deathbed- much less to the Herald.

            Varric distinctly remembered having the Herald come crying to _him_ because the "mean, bald elf was being mean and rude to the Dalish elves". _When did the Herald start to speak to Chuckles after that? Much less, when did they even spend time together?_

            Varric wouldn't say that he had been watching the Herald's every move, per se, it was just that Chuckles wasn't in a most opportune place to just happen upon. Chuckles haunted the space around Adan's cabin on a pretty usual basis, and the Herald only visited Adan when she either needed healing or was just picking up potions before leaving for a mission somewhere. And unless those two were meeting up after everyone had gone to bed, there wasn't much time for them to get close.

            Varric's eyes widened. _That's it, though, isn't it? After everyone goes to sleep, there's no one saying she can't go visit Chuckles. Fuck, her cabin doesn't even have guards posted. Daaaammmmn, so that's it._ Varric whistled lowly. _Chuckles has got to have smooth moves to get the Herald to like him after he blundered through their first conversation together. Maybe I should ask him how he managed to win her over if I ever write a book..._

            Varric looked over to where Chuckles usually stood and watched as Chuckles exited Adan's cabin, looking as frustrated as he ever had this past week. _Or maybe I'll ask him after the Herald wakes up. I don't want to poke that angry bear anymore than necessary._

 

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            "Come get your decorations for the celebrations!" Seggrit shouted out to anyone who would still listen. _Dammit! It's been five days already since the closing of that damned Breach and still people won't buy anything to celebrate it closing! So what that the Herald apparently gave her life to close it! I still have to make a profit off of all these decorations everyone demanded I get for the fucking celebrations. Now they don't even want to celebrate because the Herald got herself killed? Fucking assholes! What about paying me for my kindness in getting these stupid decorations?! They could at least still pay for these and just have a... wake party or something in honor of the Herald dying! They could decorate this place and drown themselves in their grief while she's burning at the pyre, if it'd just get these damned decorations off of my hands!_ Seggrit grouched to himself as _another_ person walked by without buying anything. He was beginning to regret ever coming to Haven to sell his wares to the Inquisition.

 

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            The Iron Bull was sitting in the tavern, along with the rest of his Chargers. He was keeping his eye on the elf, Sera. He wasn't too sure about just how many ales she had already had to drink, but seeing as how she couldn't even sit up straight without toppling over, he'd venture a guess and say it was more than she had ever drunken before.

            Sera stood, somehow, and walked over to Flissa, somehow, and ordered yet another ale, somehow, all without stumbling all over the place. The Iron Bull's eyebrow raised; either Sera was very steady on her feet even when wasted drunk or she wasn't as wasted as he thought she was. Either way, he still waved his hand at her and beckoned her to join him and the Chargers at their table.

            "Whuzza want?" Sera slurred at him once she meandered over.

            "Just how many of those are ya planning on drinking tonight?" He asked. It wasn't that he cared, per se, he just didn't want to explain to the Commander or the Seneschal why the elven archer had suddenly died.

            "Whuzzit matter to ya?" She glared.

            "It doesn't. I just don't want to explain your death to anyone who cares about you," he explained. She sized him up for a long moment.

            "Well... don't! There ain't anyone ta tell now since Heraldy Bits is out," she hiccupped. He had a feeling he might grow to regret this, but he was curious.

            "Wanna talk about it?" He offered.

            "Are ya gon tell me ta stop drinkin'?" She asked.

            "No. If ya wanna die, that's on you," he replied. She nodded and proceeded to tell him all about how awful it was that the Herald was dying and not waking and just how awful life was going to get if the Herald never woke up again. He wasn't too sure of the specifics of the Herald's relationship with Sera, but if he went by what Sera was telling him, those two had a fling going on- at least, Sera was sure they had a fling happening. And he wasn't sure whether Sera would even remember this chat in the morning, but for now, it seemed to be helping, so he just continued to nod and hum in the appropriate places and let Sera drunkenly cry it all out to him (while he learned all sorts of new secrets he hadn't seen or heard of happening before then).

 

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            Ser Delvin Barris was having a bad week. At first, it was the closing of the Breach and the clusterfuck that was. Then it was returning to Haven and having to explain what had happened to the advisors. Following that, it was vetting all of his fellow Templars for red lyrium users. They had found one, and put him into a cell below the Chantry to try to wean him off of the red lyrium. He had died the next night in the dungeons. ( Ser Barris figured red lyrium either killed extremely fast when someone was withdrawing from it or that Templar had just had an extreme adverse reaction to it.) Ser Barris had been sitting in the Commander's tent writing to that Templar's family trying to explain in the nicest terms possible that their son had turned away from the Maker and had been killed for it (the letter was not going very well- this was already his third attempt at it), when a scout had come into the tent and had asked for the senior-most Templar in Haven at that particular moment. Since that was him, he had told the scout as much. He didn't think much of it, just thought it most likely had something to do with the payrolls or something. Imagine his surprise when instead, the scout insisted that it was Sister Leliana whom wanted to speak with him. Blinking in his confusion, he had apparently waited a moment too long to respond to the summons, and the scout had called for guards to escort him to the dungeon. Beneath the Chantry. Where the last Templar had died. From lyrium withdrawals. To say he was less than thrilled to find himself there was an understatement.

            Ser Barris remembered calling out to the Commander before being locked away, only for the Commander to glare at him, nod at Sister Leliana, and leave them in the dungeon. Him. Alone with the Sister. Who was looking less and less like a friendly Sister should. He had gulped in his trepidation, and she wasted no time in asking him questions.

            "What happened at Therinfal Redoubt?", "Did the Herald go anywhere alone?", "Did anyone follow the Herald where it was just the two of them?", and "Did the Herald do something that struck you as odd?" were just some of the many questions that were asked. These ones were the ones Ser Barris felt confident in knowing the answers to.

            "The senior-most Templars attacked the nobles and the Herald when they tried to negotiate. The senior-most Templars said something about red lyrium and how it was better than regular lyrium. The senior-most Templars turned into abominations. The Herald and her comrades fought against the abominations, and helped them defeat all of the abominations," was his answer to the first question. Sister Leliana had looked unsatisfied and had glared quite fiercely at him.

            "No, not that I could see," had been his answer to the second question. It too received a fierce glare in response.

            "Only with the elven apostate, and it was only to heal the Herald when she had gotten a particularly nasty cut on her leg," had been his answer to the third question. That, at least, didn't get him a glare, but the responding hum and narrowing of the Sister's eyes did nothing for his nerves.

            "Near the end of dealing with the abominations, there was a moment when she faced against the Lord Seeker Lucius. He had attacked her with a hidden dagger, and I thought for sure she wouldn't be able to dodge it in time. But..." He shook his head at that point, trying to gather his thoughts in the right order before continuing, "she was more flexible than I thought her capable of. She side-stepped the attack and shoved her own dagger into the Lord Seeker's stomach. He dissolved into ash when she pulled her dagger free. And..." He trailed off. The Sister Leliana stepped closer to him at that point, almost hanging off of every word he said.

            "And?" She prompted.

            "And... she- the Herald- she... She _giggled_." He looked up at the Sister then. "I always thought it strange that she would giggle after killing someone, but I didn't have time to comment on it since behind the Lord Seeker, there were even more abominations, and it was more important to fight those than to ask questions that could be asked and answered later."

            At that explanation, Sister Leliana had looked pensive and not quite so hungry for information. She hadn't let up on the questions, but at least the glares hadn't returned. (He was glad about that, at the very least.)

            But the end of the interrogation had come, and he still had been left in the dungeon. For four days since the last Templar had died, and seven days since the Breach had been closed, he had been in the dungeon, wondering just why he had been left to rot in there.

 

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            By some miracle, Flissa had garnered most of the townspeople's attentions that the tavern's ale was being sold at a discounted price. Now, it seemed like the whole of Haven was squishing themselves into the small tavern to have a pint or two in their bellies. She figured that most, if not all of them, were there to mourn the Herald's plight more than to celebrate, but it wasn't her place to judge- just her place to serve the drinks, monitor people's behaviors, and try to stop any and all disagreements peacefully. She wasn't all too worried about any disagreements breaking out. No one seemed to be in the mood for any violence- at least, not while in the tavern. Various raised voices from outside could be heard within the tavern, even with so many people inside. It just wasn't all that loud inside. Busy, yes; loud, no. Hence why she thought everyone to be mourning instead of celebrating.

            Flissa sighed. This was not how she had expected to spend the following week after the Breach had been sealed. She had expected parties and laughter and spilling ale everywhere. Instead, she had a whole bunch of people all jammed together, sighing, crying, and all encompassing gloom. The decorations she had gotten from Seggrit were wholly inappropriate now. Such decorations were for joyous times. These were not joyous times. Why Seggrit didn't see that was beyond Flissa. She thought it was clear as day, but that was probably because she was stuck in a tavern full of mourning and downtrodden people.

            Despite the mood in the tavern, Flissa tried to keep up her positivity. She still smiled at everyone, she still said cheerful welcomes to those entering the tavern, and she still sold any ale with a lilt in her voice. She refused to acknowledge the fact that she had tear stains on her face, or that her hands shook with every fake smile, or that her bottom lip quivered with each fake cheerful welcome. No one had to know she wasn't as positive as she was trying to portray- it'd be her little secret. (Everyone went along with it- it was better than having to listen to Seggrit trying to sell his wares, by any means.) No one tried to stop her from still trying to stay positive, but there was a time when she noticed that there weren't any new faces coming into the tavern, just as there wasn't anyone leaving. And while everyone had a pint in front of them, no one was actually drinking the ale. It seemed as though the entire group had just collectively decided that staying in the warm tavern and wallowing in their grief was better than meandering out in the snow catching frostbite. It seemed to Flissa that everyone thought it was better to be warm and together with each other and grieve together than to be outside and alone. She decided that she agreed with them, even though it stalled any further sales. She didn't need to be like Seggrit and always look to make a profit. She could take a day and just let people come in, stay, and grieve with each other.

 

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            Since he had not been terribly injured a week ago, Ser Lucas had been assigned to gate duty. Well, more like he had volunteered for it, really. Anything to get out of Haven and away from the depressing mood that had descended upon everybody once word got out about the Herald. Not that he despised anyone for that- he just didn't like being around sad and mopey people. Definitely not _that_ large of a group of mopey people, most certainly. So he had volunteered for gate duty, and here he was. Staring at a whole bunch of snow, waiting for something to happen. Personally, he was hoping word would come from Haven that the Herald had awakened, but it was a small hope. Realistically, he figured the person who had created the Breach would probably retaliate against the Inquisition soon. He just didn't know when such a thing would happen.

            So when the flaming arrow soared through the air and landed in the wooden post behind him, he wasn't terribly surprised. Nor was he terribly all that surprised when the archer marched out from behind the tree line with another arrow notched. It _did_ surprise him when he heard a squelch next to him, however. He looked over at the other guard. He hadn't even seen the archer let the arrow fly, nor had he seen the arrow fly. But there it was, sticking out of the guard next to him. The arrow wasn't on fire, though, so he supposed that it hadn't come from the archer he had seen. Which reminded him-

            _Twwwannnk!_

            Ser Lucas looked down at his chest. He brought up a hand to the feathers on the end of the arrow. They were softer than they looked, even with the oily green sheen to them. He staggered back into the post behind him, barely noticing that his back felt warmer than it had just a moment ago. The distant pain from his knees alerted him to the fact that he had slumped down onto them. He lethargically watched the world tilt as the warmth in his back spread up to his neck and around to his chest.

            _Maybe mopey people aren't all that bad.....Maybe.... I should've stayed... in.... Havennn.............._ His thoughts slowed and petered out just as the air in his lungs dwindled to nothing.

 

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            The ringing bell didn't sound until _after_ the legion of flaming torches was seen descending the mountain side. The guards on gate duty should have been able to see this approaching army _long_ before Haven would have. But for whatever reason, the guards on duty had not rung any bells, had not sent any messengers to Haven, had not done anything they had been trained to do. And that _frustrated_ Cullen.

            _How could he make any plans against any threats ahead of time if no one even bothered to alert him to the danger?!_ He raged inside his head. The gates had been assigned guards for this very reason- to alert him, the Commander, to any and all threats approaching Haven. He had trained each and every Inquisition soldier to learn the protocols for emergencies such as this. And yet-! And yet, not a single protocol was followed. Not. A. Single. One. His thoughts continued to rage inside his mind as he barked out orders for his soldiers to follow: Take up arms; fight; defend; protect; get the townspeople to the Chantry.

            He so dearly wished he had assigned Jobsworth, the ever diligent always-follow-protocol soldier to gate duty that day instead of assigning Jobsworth to guard the Chantry's doors. _Although, at least the Chantry will be well taken care of with him on duty_ , Cullen thought as he raised his own sword against an enemy mage.

 

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            She heard the ringing bells a bit late; the enemy mage had already flung hot flames at her when the bells sounded. How an enemy mage had even made it this far into Haven without anyone being any the wiser was not a pleasant thought for Leliana to have. They had guards posted to prevent this very situation from ever happening! Although, Leliana _had_ had her agents retreat from their scouting missions this past week to focus their efforts on finding any and all traitors in their midst. It was a decision she now regretted making. _If only I had kept them out for just a few more days, I could've known about the enemy! If only-_

            A jet of frozen air zipped past her face, bringing her attention back to the mage in front of her... whom had gained a few friends. There were now three mages aiming their staves at her, the gathering magic sending tingles down her spine. Instead of blocking, Leliana dodged out of the way, notched an arrow, and let it fly once she stopped moving. The arrow lodged itself into the middle mage, killing him instantly. She notched another arrow, ready to kill another mage. One of the guards at the Chantry sent a Silence at the mages at the precise moment her loosed arrow met its mark in the woman mage. The remaining mage, a male elf, fell to the ground from the Silence just in time for the scout behind him to slice her daggers across his throat. With that threat taken care of, Leliana turned to the Templar guard, and gave the orders to protect the Chantry and to provide cover for any townspeople trying to get into the Chantry. She, then, turned around and rejoined the fight against the enemy.

 

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            Although she had heard a bell ringing, she had dismissed it as nothing more than a squad of scouts returning from their reconnaissance missions. It was the panicked screams coming into the Chantry that helped Josephine become aware that something was amiss.

            Walking out from her office, she passed many Chantry Sisters and Mother Giselle trying their best to soothe the frightened townspeople whom had made their way into the Chantry once the bells had finished ringing. Many were uninjured. Only a few were staring off, not looking at anyone or anything. Josephine left them be to continue on; she had other things to do. Such as opening the Chantry doors so people wouldn't die while trying to get in. (She suspected it would become a problem the longer this situation, whatever it was, persisted, if it wasn't already a problem.)

            Josephine opened the Chantry door just enough to be able to see out and was awarded with a frostbite spell to the door for it. She quickly shut the door in response. Leliana had told her that she should always count to ten before opening any door in an emergency- one never knew what was on the other side and it was best to err on the side of caution in these dangerous times. Especially when the sounds of fighting reached her ears.

            _Ten... Nine... Eight... Seven... Six..._ Josephine counted down in her head. _Five... Four..._ A thump sounded against the door, quickly followed by a thud. _Three.... Two... One..._

            Josephine slowly eased open the door again. She was met with a dead mage with his head smashed in. Her stomach lurched, and her hand flew to her mouth. A small gasp escaped her, and a huge figure came into her field of vision. A huge figure with horns. The Iron Bull. A small sob left Josephine at the sight of him. He had a slash down his left forearm and blood on his hands. She supposed his battleaxe had blood on it as well, but that was a thought for another time seeing as it was not currently in her line of sight. And she had duties to do. Squaring her shoulders, Josephine pulled open the door just a smidgen more.

            "Will you provide protection for anyone trying to come to the Chantry?" She asked The Iron Bull. He cracked a smile and nodded his head.

            "Got these people here well enough. Was just about to open the door when you opened it," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the group of townspeople behind him. "This is most people from the tavern. A few people left the group to get some stuff from their cabins," he explained.

            Josephine nodded. "Thank you. Could you direct people to come to the Chantry while you're out fighting?"

            The Iron Bull nodded. He and his boys could do that much, at least. He wasn't entirely sure where the rest of the Inner Circle was, but he figured they were focusing on just killing the enemy. The enemy could focus on the fighters while he and the Chargers got the townspeople and non-fighters out of danger. It was a sound plan and better than letting the non-fighters try to find (and fight) their way to the Chantry on their own.

            "You got it," he told Josephine before ordering his Chargers with the plan and disappearing down the path.

            Josephine looked around her to see the situation outside the Chantry. So far there weren't any mages within her sight, and she breathed a sigh of relief for that. She turned to the large group of people in front of her, and gestured for them to come inside the Chantry. There was plenty of room for everyone with room to spare. They wasted no time in following her gesture; they were eager to be out of the cold and out of danger.

            Once everyone in the group had made their way into the Chantry, Josephine nodded to herself, turned on her heel, and called out orders to her people. (She made sure to leave the door open just a smidge to make it easier for any other townsperson or Inquisition agent to come in. Not too open though, she did _not_ want to hear a lecture from either Commander Cullen or Leliana about leaving the people inside the Chantry open for attack. But this was one of the few ways in which she could help save people who might have otherwise died, so she didn't feel _too_ guilty about it.) Just because they were under attack, it did not mean that they could afford to be disorganized. She put people to work to find the emergency supplies, hold off on getting into any of the rations, pass out blankets, begin saying the Chant of Light to each other, gather the important documents and store them in easy to carry chests and knapsacks, and generally follow the protocols Commander Cullen had had them all practice in the event an emergency ever occurred. (Josephine was mighty thankful for those practices now; once everyone had gotten over their shock, they knew what to do without causing any more chaos and discord. It helped to get everything ready in the event they had to evacuate the Chantry in a hurry.)

            "Please, Maker, let us survive this night." She found herself saying in a soft prayer when she had a moment to herself. She bowed her head reverently for a moment before she rejoined the others in getting things ready for whatever came next.

 

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            "Could use some help over here!" Varric called out to his companions. The mage in front of him had decided Varric had gotten just a bit too close and was currently swinging her bladed staff around, trying to slice Varric. He wasn't going to mention that if the mage wanted to actually injure him then she'd need to try thrusting the staff at him instead of swinging it around. He didn't need to actually get injured. It did make it a smidge harder to land a bolt on her, though. Her wild swinging kept knocking his bolts out of the air. He started to wonder if that was what she was actually trying to do, which only led him to think that maybe she was all out of magical juice and very vulnerable to attacks. He opened his mouth to call out again, only to stand there with his mouth hanging open when the poor mage girl was flung backwards. He looked down to see the remnants of an ice mine right at the spot where the mage girl had been standing. He looked around, spotted Solas looking at him, and nodded his thanks at the elf. Solas nodded back before covering him, Cassandra, and himself with a barrier spell. Not one to miss an opportunity to kill an enemy, Varric fired a bolt at the now disoriented mage girl and then fired another bolt at a mage sneaking up on the Seeker. She didn't pause in the slightest in her onslaught against the mages. She likely didn't even see the mage sneaking up on her. Varric sighed; he'd get no thanks for saving her life.

            Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a small mage hedging their way towards him. Varric jumped backwards while firing his crossbow. The bolt hit the mage in their forehead.   _I really hate killing kids,_ he thought to himself as he notched another bolt. Seeing movement of the corner of his other eye, he swiftly turned and fired. Only... there wasn't anyone there. Just the trebuchet. _Weird... Couldda sworn it moved just now._

            Before he could think too much more on it, a nearby battle cry caught his attention, and he turned towards it just in time to catch a stunning spell in the chest. He staggered and stumbled to his knees, trying to regain his balance. Clumsily, he fired a bolt in the direction the spell had come from. He was ninety percent sure he missed his target. He felt, more than heard, someone at his back, and tried to dodge out of the way.

            A hand steadied him, pressed something into his hand, and a steady voice said, "Drink this. It will help."

            Feeling a bit compelled, Varric did as he was told and drank the potion. The effects were immediate. The lingering shocks from the spells dissipated and his balance returned. Just in time for him to dodge another stunning spell. This time his bolt hit its target square in the chest.

            Glancing around him, Varric thought for sure he'd see just who had helped him, but he stood alone in his corner of the battlefield. _Huh._ And the trebuchet just lurched a little bit to face the mountain side just a little bit more. _That's... weird... Who's aiming it?_

            Hearing a crunch behind him, Varric turned and faced yet another mage. Jumping backwards once again, he fired yet another bolt, and killed yet another mage. He pushed the thoughts about the trebuchet and the unknown person from his mind so that he could focus on the battle more. He _did not_ need to be distracted from the current onslaught of mages headed straight for the trebuchet. As long as it got aimed and the mages got dead, he could think about the weirdness of the situation at a later date.

 

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            "Quick! Fire the trebuchet!" Yelled a nearby scout. Where this scout came from, Cassandra didn't know. And frankly, at that moment, she didn't _care._ She was the closest to the trebuchet, and quickly ran up the low platform to fire it. She watched it fire a heavy stone towards the mountain side high above the invading army of mages. She expected the stone to have a loud impact against the mountain, but instead, it was just a soft _thwump_ with snow dusting upwards around it. In only a matter of seconds, the snow shifted, and the entire mountain side began its descent downwards. In only a matter of minutes, the entire army of mages was swallowed up by the avalanche. Only the few mages still in Haven remained free from the avalanche. It was something Cassandra was instantly grateful for. These mages were tedious to kill, and there were just so many of them all at once. It turned killing mages from a tedious job into a pesky job- like trying to kill off cockroaches, really; kill one and ten more would come to take its place. It aggravated Cassandra to no end. _Just where were all these mages coming from!? Surely, Redcliffe did not have this many mages! Surely, the Inquisition would have heard of an army of mages marching across Fereldan!_ Cassandra's angry thoughts were interrupted by the joyous cheers around her. She was grateful they had seemed to have finally caught a break from the sudden attack. A small smile crept onto her face- the first smile since the Breach had been sealed, in fact.

            _Ssssscchhhhrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieee_

            The loud screech came from above them. As one, they all looked towards the sky. Cassandra gaped at the flying beast circling above them. From her right, she heard Varric swear rather colorfully. She thought she heard a groan from Solas, but it could have been the scout. There were quiet mumblings that she thought could have come from the scout, but she wasn't entirely sure of it. Though with that beast in the air (and fighting against them), she figured it was best to not stay out in the open.

            "To the Chantry!" She shouted. (Who in their right mind would want to fight _that?)_   They turned away from the trebuchet and ran back towards Haven- back towards the Chantry. It was the only building that could probably withstand whatever attacks a _dragon_ could do, after all.

 

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            Seggrit had managed to find shelter in the tavern during the attack. He had figured the attack would be a short-lived thing, so after nearly everyone else in the tavern had left, he had entered it and had ordered himself a flagon of ale. Flissa had for whatever stayed behind and so she had the wonderful pleasure of serving him his drinks. Then again, that was her job. It wasn't as though she could flee the tavern while she still had a patron to serve. And the attack wouldn't last that long, anyway. The Inquisition would protect them. It was their job. So Seggrit continued drinking, and Flissa continued to worry about the protocols.

            "Calm down, Flissa! It's not like the Inquisition will let anythin' actually happen to us," Seggrit told Flissa. His words were a bit slurred from the drink. "It's their job to protect us."

            Flissa's eyes flickered around the tavern. "But-" she started.

            "But _nothing_. I bet this is just another soldier who lost a bet and rang that damned bell," Seggrit interrupted. He _didn't_ believe that, but it would calm Flissa down enough to get him another flagon. And _that_ was worth every white lie in the world.

            "I-I-.... umm..." Whatever Flissa had been about to say was lost to Seggrit as he swallowed wrong and began coughing. She came over and patted him on the back, trying to help him breathe correctly again.

            "Thankss," he slurred when his coughing fit subsided. He raised his flagon and took a long swig. "An'th'r!" He shouted.

            "I think you've had enough," Flissa replied. Her arms were crossed, and her eyes were staring longingly at the door.

            "Git me ma drink, ya damned woman," came Seggrit's rough reply. He glared at her, hard, until she finally complied. He didn't thank her this time around; he didn't believe he should. It was her job to serve, after all.

            It was silent in the tavern after that. The only noises were the ones from outside- shouts, screams, and grunts. Probably just people getting worked up over practicing the protocols again. Nothing for Seggrit to worry about. So he went on drinking. And drinking. And drinking.

 

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            Flissa was getting worried. Everyone whom had left earlier hadn't made their ways back. While they had all paid for their drinks, it was worrisome that none had come back to complain about the ringing bells being just another practice for what to do in an emergency. It was putting her on edge. She wanted to leave, go to the Chantry, and find out what was happening. But she couldn't leave until everyone else had left the tavern, and currently, Seggrit was drinking his fill. More than his fill. He really needed to stop if he wanted to wake up in the morning, but Flissa did not want to find out what type of angry drunk he was. Already he was demanding and rude, although he was _always_ rude. She looked around the tavern once more, and deciding that Seggrit could either drink until he died or he could face Sister Leliana's wrath for not paying for his drink, Flissa packed a few of her belongings together, walked towards the door, and paused only to tell Seggrit that he had better pay for each flagon he was drinking and not to steal anything while she checked to see what was going on in the Chantry. His only response was to grunt at her.

            Or it would have been had a sudden screech not sounded above them right then. At which point, Seggrit dropped his flagon (drenching his front in ale) and ran to the closest door (which happened to be the door nearest to the bar). Flissa curiously watched him wrench open the door, only for him to stop. He didn't even make it out the door. With her interest piqued, she turned more fully towards him. She watched as he paled at whatever it was that he had seen, frantically shut the door, and then came barreling towards her with a frightened look upon his face. She took a step back intending to get out of his way, but she was not quite quick enough. For a drunk, Seggrit was surprisingly quick on his feet. He clipped her shoulder hard enough to send her crashing to the floor. He barely spared her a glance before he was out the door. He didn't even bother with shutting the door before he was barreling down the path towards the Chantry.

            Flissa groaned as her head hit the floor. She groaned as she sat up, trying to regain her bearings. Another loud screech did nothing to help her aching head. The smell of smoke didn't help either. _Wait... Smoke?_ Flissa glanced up just in time to see the roof on fire. Her eyes widened. S- _Smoke! F-Fire! Maker's Breath!_

            Her legs scrambled about under her, trying even more to quickly get her bearings before the fire could spread to trap her inside the tavern. But she was not quick enough. The fire burned through one of the support beams, and it fell. Directly on top of her. The force of it knocked the air clean out of her. It pinned her down to the floor while still aflame. She struggled to lift the beam, but it didn't budge. She knew it wouldn't take much time before the flames would burn through the wood and reach her. She struggled harder, wishing beyond any hope that someone would come to her aid. It was the thing she feared most: being burned alive. And it appeared that she would be facing that fear sooner rather than later. She screamed in her terror for _anyone_ to come to her rescue.

 

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            Seggrit heard Flissa's scream, but he wasn't going back into the tavern. No way in Hell was he going back there. It was on _fire_. Going into burning buildings was how people _died_. And he wasn't going to die. Most certainly not because he went back to save Flissa. While she was good at serving drinks, she wasn't worth risking his _life_ over. And so, he continued barreling down the path to the Chantry. Only... he remembered the prized dragon tooth he had just won off of some poor bloke a few days ago. It would be a shame to leave that behind. He turned on his heel and ran back down the path he had just come from. He slowed when he came to the turn off that led towards Adan's cabin. _The Herald... Is she-? Should I check to see if she made it into the Chantry?_ He thought about it for a moment, before shaking himself.

            "Nah, if tha Her'ld ain't in tha Chantry already, she's jus' dead weight- it ain't like she's gonna wake up, aft'r 'll," Seggrit muttered under his breath while looking towards Adan's cabin. He turned away from that turn off and ran in the direction towards his own cabin to quickly grab that dragon tooth. _Hope that idiot bloke- Ser Lucas? - didn't steal it while I was busy._

 

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            This was not how he imagined he would come to Haven. He certainly never imagined it would be with such dire news, either. Of course, Haven most likely already knew the news by this point. Alas, he had made it nonetheless. Instead of knocking like he thought he would need to, there were enough enemies around that he actually had to fight his way into Haven. Although, since they were all mages, he very well could have just blended right in and entered Haven that way. But that was less fun. And had the potential of him getting sliced and dead by Inquisition soldiers. So instead, he fought against the mages and, somehow, had ended up in Haven fighting against a group of mages whom had the audacity to gang up on a lone Templar.

            She was a pretty thing, the Templar. Blonde hair, standard Templar armor, suspicious lack of a weapon, surrounded by malicious mages. It was no wonder why he stopped to help her out of that sticky situation. He did have that problem with always helping people, after all (not that many people realized that, of course- his reputation wouldn't survive if they did realize it, and he was perfectly happy with no one being the wiser). He covered her with a barrier spell- and just in time, too. The various ice and fire spells that had been sent her way bounced harmlessly off his barrier and rebounded back towards those whom had cast them. Magic was wonderful like that. The Templar didn't appreciate it quite so much. She stiffened only to quickly cast a Silence. That wasn't fun. With all magic subdued for the moment, the Templar finally found a sword nearby and began cutting down enemy mages. (She was very good at slicing and dicing. He suddenly found himself very glad to have chosen to fight alongside her as her comrade.) As soon as his magic trickled back, Dorian covered the Templar again with another barrier spell, only to be met with the same results. While it was painful, it was also quite effective. Only one mage remained standing after the third Silence. While Dorian could have covered the Templar in yet another barrier, he decided enduring a Silence thrice was far more than enough for one day, and he promptly sent a firebolt spell at the remaining mage. It was clear the mage hadn't expected it since she didn't dodge out of the way nor had she erected a barrier over herself. The firebolt spell hit her directly in the face, and Dorian felt a sick sense of pride at that. (It was a bit fascinating to watch the mage's face burn off, but the smell was horrid.)  The Templar whirled around and promptly readied her sword to attack him.

            "Wait! I'm with the Inquisition!" He called out. He did not fancy himself being impaled by a Templar. He did _not_ want to die today, and certainly not because a Templar decided it was his turn to get all sliced and dead. She froze with her sword poised in a fantastic stance to slice him into tiny little bits, stared at him for a moment, noted the way he _still_ had not attacked her (beyond the barrier spells), and then nodded at him.

            "Thank you for helping me," she told him. "I'm Lysette."

            "You're welcome, darling, but enough pleasantries. We have mages to kill," Dorian replied cheekily. Lysette's responding smile was strained. She gave him a curt nod, then started heading further into Haven.

            "We're to meet at the Chantry for further instructions," she told him over her shoulder. "Might make a few detours along the way to help any survivors, though."

            "Sounds like a plan!" Came Dorian's reply. He didn't mind helping people (despite what his reputation said), though that dragon flying about overhead was worrisome. Hopefully they wouldn't run into too many detours before reaching the Chantry.

 

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            While they had not run into many detours, they did run into one rather important detour. A Chancellor had taken a dagger to the gut to protect a young Templar from being impaled in the stomach by a mage's bladed staff. The young Templar had retaliated against the enemy by beheading them. The sight wasn't pretty- who knew blood could spurt that high? Now the young Templar was trying to help the Chancellor back towards the Chantry.

            "Here, let me," Dorian said as he slipped his arm around the Chancellor and helped him along much more easily than the Templar had. The young Templar had nodded his thanks before falling back to talk quietly with Lysette. As long as neither of them tried to Smite him from behind, Dorian was fine with having them follow him and the Chancellor to the Chantry. (It was always best to have someone watching his back, especially on a battlefield. Even more so when he had an injured Chancellor to help.)

            Throughout the entire walk to the Chantry, the Chancellor quietly spoke to Dorian. Mostly it was mundane things. But one thing stuck out to Dorian. For whatever reason, the Chancellor had mentioned the summer pilgrimage into the Haven Chantry. Apparently, there was another way to get into the Chantry beyond the front doors. It was intriguing and slightly worrisome. Dorian had no way of knowing whether the enemy knew of the summer pilgrimage way. He was not about to ask any of the enemies, in any case. When Dorian asked for more details about the summer pilgrimage, the Chancellor jumped onto the subject with eagerness. Dorian figured it either brought some semblance of peace to the Chancellor or the Chancellor thought he could convince Dorian to take the trek at a later date. Either way, the Chancellor gave Dorian an astonishingly large amount of information on how to get into the Haven Chantry. Which just gave Dorian another idea: while the Chancellor gave information on how to get _in_ to the Chantry, he also inadvertently gave information on how to get _out_. By using the summer pilgrimage, everyone within the Chantry could _evacuate_ without the enemy being any the wiser. Dorian smiled. It was the _perfect_ way to surviving this nightmare. (And it was a good way of giving hope to these desperate people. They could all do with a bit of hope these days- this night in particular needed some hope. Dorian only hoped it would be well-received.)

 

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            Curly was at the doors of the Chantry, waving people in. There was a desperate glint in his eyes. Varric didn't like it. It reminded him entirely way too much of Kirkwall and the fall of the Circle there.

            They waited until there were no other people in sight before they entered the Chantry. Good thing, too, since Curly shut the doors after them.

            "Not expecting any more company?" Varric quipped. Curly just stared blankly at him.

            "There isn't anyone left," came Curly's reply.

            Varric felt his face blanch at that. His mouth dropped open before he quickly shut it. He had no response to reply with. But he figured he should let the subject drop before his mouth could say anything regrettable. All the while Curly just continued to blankly stare at him, as though his mind had gone numb from all the bloodshed outside. (If Varric thought about it, he would have realized Curly was probably still in shock from seeing the dragon outside. But he didn't think about it, and so just gave Curly a weird look for his continued staring.)

            "Cullen!" Came the urgent call from the Seeker, nevermind the fact that she stood less than a few feet away from them. "What do we do now?" She asked. She had the same glint of desperation in her eyes. Varric _really_ did not like that. The  Seeker had always had a plan, no matter the situation. To see her this lost was unsettling to say the least. It left a foul taste in his mouth. (He ignored the nasty twist in his gut.)

            "'We cannot stand against that _beast_ ; at this point, just make them work for it,'" Curly growled, breaking free from his staring contest with Varric's head. (A/N: Woot! Direct quotes from the game!)

            _Well, that isn't good. Curly's gone and given up hope for this working out,_ Varric thought to himself. _Way to keep the morale up, Commander._

            The Seeker grunted. But she didn't refute him. Varric figured she was probably feeling much the same way. That had always been the thing between the Seeker and Curly- they often thought alike. If one didn't believe something could be done, the other was likely to believe the same. Two peas in a pod, those two. It just made Varric sigh. They were doing nothing for morale- and nothing that would help keep them all alive.

            "'I've written enough tragedies to see where this is going. Heroes are everywhere. I've seen that... [This] is beyond heroes. We're going to need a miracle,'" Varric declared, deciding he wasn't much help for morale either. It wasn't as though morale could get any lower by this point, anyway. Only a miracle would make morale better, really. And Varric was fresh out of those. (A/N: Woot! Another direct quote from the game! And okay, I changed this one just a bit to fit with the setting. Once again, I'm just playing in this sandbox, I don't own anything here.)

            It appeared as though the Maker had heard him (and decided to spite him), because not two minutes after his declaration, the weird Tevinter mage from Redcliffe - Dorian? - was sauntering his way over, declaring there was a way out of this mess that would keep people alive after all. (And it would probably raise morale, too.)

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... the Breach was sealed! Just kinda too bad the Herald didn't get to enjoy the celebration any. And that celebration, right? Fantastic stuff, right? Yeah? Yeah? Please don't shoot me *hides behind couch* Till next time.


	4. For Everything Good and Holy (Try Not to Panic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say how much I really did NOT want to write this chapter? I'd sit down, get all comfy, start to write, and then just write CRAP. It's been awful! Very frustrating. Sigh. I apologize for the long wait. Hopefully this chapter isn't as crappy as it was at first- here's to hoping, anyway.  
> Oh, and this chapter is working under the idea that when in fight-or-flight mode, the body's instincts overrule any odd discrepancies happening... Like how when you're in a panic and your body just does something automatically without you really noticing, but then when you do notice it, you kinda have a sort of panic attack about it? (Think body over mind, kinda) Hope that makes sense.  
> Also with the whole panic mode, please realize some characters are going to be OOC (out-of-character) because they're in a panic (this will include the main character). With that said, Onto the Story!  
> TW: Panic

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            _Ssssscchhhhrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieee_

            With a jolt, I tumbled from the bed with my legs still tangled in the blankets. My heart was pounding. My hand fumbled around trying to find my phone to turn off the alarm, but to no avail. I opened my eyes, squinted into the darkness, and froze. This... This was not my room. I had the distinct feeling it wasn't even my apartment. A lump formed in my lungs- it was getting harder and harder to breathe around it. My hands shook and clutched at the blankets. I looked down at them. My eyes narrowed. _Where's my birthmark?_ I released the blankets and flipped my hands over. My fingers flexed and relaxed. _Are my hands... smaller?_ Inspecting my hands further, I realized that _yes_ , my hands were smaller and were void of any birthmarks. _Huh... that's really weird._

Thinking back to the last thing I remembered, my eyes widened. _That's right! I'm in the Herald! Along with the Envy demon... What happened?_ I wondered. I tried calling out in my mind for the demon, but  only silence greeted me.

            Humming, I went back to trying to recall the last few days. _Oh!! I convinced the Envy demon to close the Breach! I probably shouldn't have lied to it though... Who knows what Coryphenit will do once he finds out the Envy demon made Coryphenit's job harder? ...What else? What else happened? Uhmmmm... Oh!! The Breach! I tried to mend it and put it back together... Did I really close it? It hurt like a mofo... so maybe it closed...?_ My memories blanked out after remembering the searing pain from the Mark connecting to the Breach. Well, they mostly were blank. There was this faint sense that I had been screaming at some point when the Breach was closing, but the memory was escaping me. _This is so weird._

            "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

            My head jerked up. _That sounds like a scream!_ My legs scrambled underneath me. It was only after I had taken a minute to calmly untangle my legs from the blankets that I could stand up. I quickly took stock of what I had with me. _Clothes, check. Shoes, check. Weapons? Uncheck- wait, that frying pan should work... Thank you, Tangled, for the idea! First aid?_ I looked around the room I was in after grabbing the frying pan. Nothing resembled a first aid kit, though there were many flasks full of red liquid. I grabbed a few while still looking around. As far as I could see, there weren't any weapons in the room beyond the frying pan. _Whelp. Guess I'll just have to rely on hand-to-hand combat and hitting people with the frying pan if I run into any trouble. So glad I watched Tangled._

            "HEEEEELP MEEEEEE!!!!"

            That sounded closer than the first scream. It jolted me into action. Striding quickly to the door and wrenching it open, a felled man under some fallen crates caught my attention. Quickly going to him, I tried pulling up the wooden box from atop of him. The box didn't budge. Groaning in my frustration, I tried pushing it off of him. It only budged a smidgen. The man gasped and groaned in pain at the crate shifted across his chest. I stopped immediately. This was not working.

            Glancing around, I saw a stray wooden beam not too far from where I currently was. _If I use that as a lever, it should work to let the poor guy - Adan? - escape..._ Deciding to use the beam, I dropped the frying pan to quickly drag the beam over and wedged it between the crate and the ground. Putting my weight on the other end of it, the beam slowly lifted the crate. Adan, watching me the entire time, didn't hesitate to scramble out from under the crate. When he was completely free, I eased the crate back down to the ground and pulled the beam free.

            Adan nodded his thanks at me. "Minaeve was with me when these crates fell over, we should look for her- make sure she's safe," he told me. I didn't see why we shouldn't so I nodded my acquiescence at him while grabbing a hold of the frying pan again. _A wooden beam and a frying pan should totally make enemies quiver in their boots!_ Even though the thought was sarcastic, it still brought me a small amount of humor.

            We walked around the fallen crates trying to see if Minaeve had been caught under them as well. We got to the opposite side from where Adan had been trapped, and we caught sight of a small hand. Bending down, I reached for the wrist. It jerked away from my touch before I could feel for a pulse. Apparently, it was still alive (the person was probably still alive, too, for that matter). Glancing at Adan, we agreed to work together to move just enough boxes to free the person. The beam from before came in handy right then (I was super glad I had the thought to keep it with me). It took some time, but we managed to get the beam underneath some of the crates. I tried to put all of my weight on it like I had when getting Adan free, but this time, the beam didn't budge.

            _Sssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhrrrr_

            _That's... an interesting sound._ It came from behind me. Turning around, I saw it: a line of spilt lyrium on fire. The line led directly to the fallen crates. Judging how far away it was, we only had a few minutes to spare. I quietly swore.

            "Adan!" I called out. "Jump on the beam!"

            "What?!" Came his gruff answer. I was fairly sure he was just always gruff- that it was just his voice, so I didn't take any offense at his tone.

            "Lyrium's gonna blow soon- get 'em out before we all blow up!" I ordered. He paused, looked where I was looking, saw the same thing I did, and hastily lurched onto the beam. He put all of his weight into that lurch. It looked painful, and I was suddenly glad he was there to do it. My ribs, in particular, were grateful.

            It worked. The crates lurched upwards and before they tumbled back down again, the woman - Minaeve - scrambled out from under them. Adan grabbed her round her shoulders and yanked her further away from the crates. I jumped backwards- well, I _thought_ I jumped, but it was more of a stumble and lurch backwards. Just in time, too, since I had miscalculated how quickly the lyrium would catch fire. _Fire really likes lyrium! Holy fuck, that's hot!_

            The flames engulfed the crates with a fiery passion. Once the flames licked the lyrium inside the crates, it caused a small explosion. We were still too close to the area to avoid injury completely. Burning shrapnel cut into my legs, arms, and face. _What a way to teach me to cover my face more the next time something like this happens!_

            Hands were suddenly on me, pulling me up, pulling the shrapnel bits out of my exposed skin, and patting at the flaming bits trying to put out the flames. A few pained gasps escaped past my lips.

            "There. You aren't on fire anymore," Adan told me once he finished looking me over. "Nothing pierced you too deep either, so you should still be able to move on your own."

            "Thanks, Adan," I said, taking stock of just where all I was hurting. A few places on my arms, a few more places on my legs (mostly on my shins), a spot on my right cheekbone and a spot just off the center of my chin was burning in pain (but without any fire, as Adan told me). While my boots had some shrapnel stuck in the soles, my feet were blessedly unharmed. ( _Guess my boots are thicker than they look, thank goodness.)_

            Adan had shielded Minaeve as best he could. She only had a few injuries on her feet and legs. Her boots weren't as thick as mine, unfortunately. She would need help moving anywhere. On the other hand, Adan's feet were fine. His back, however, had received the brunt of the explosion. While he wasn't on fire, he did have many large splinters piercing his back. There were also a few scrapes on the back of his head from where a few shrapnel pieces barely grazed him before lodging into the tree on the other side of the clearing. I wasn't sure he'd be able to move with so much pain in his back, but he proved he could. He picked up Minaeve and began carrying her towards the Chantry. Instead of taking the path, he walked along the stone wall. At least no enemies would have the opportunity of ambushing them from above. I followed after them just until another terrified scream caught my attention. We all paused at hearing it. It came from somewhere really close by.

            "Go! Get to the Chantry!" I told Adan and Minaeve. "I'll see who it is!" They both nodded at me and continued walking down the wall to the Chantry. I stayed where I was only long enough to watch them enter the Chantry. Then I turned around and ran towards the tavern.

            "HEEEEELLLLP!!"

            Skidding to a stop right outside the tavern's door, I peered inside the burning building.

            "Anyone in there?!" I shouted.

            "Down here!" Came the reply.

            Looking down, I saw a woman - Flissa? - struggling against the beam pinning her down. "Hang on!"

            "Please! Hurry!" Flissa cried, her arms trembling in their desperate attempts. The roof was half collapsed with the flames burning their way down the walls. The burning wood creaked around us. I didn't have much time.

            I hadn't had the time nor thought of grabbing the beam earlier after freeing Minaeve, so all I had with me to use as a lever was the frying pan I was somehow still gripping. It would have to do- there wasn't any time to find anything else. It was awkward getting it under the fallen beam and debris. It wouldn't lift the beam very much, but hopefully it would be just enough for Flissa to wiggle her way out. I put all of my weight behind pushing down on the frying pan. It dug into my palms, but it worked to lift the beam just slightly higher off Flissa.

            "Now! See if you can wiggle out!" I shouted out in my adrenaline rush. Instead of answering me, Flissa worked on doing what she was told by squirming and wiggling her way out. Her apron caught on a rough splinter, but then tore when Flissa jerked to the left particularly hard.

            "I'm out! I'm out!" She cried, running outside the tavern. I yanked the frying pan to me and rolled backwards in a somersault to avoid the burning wall that had decided right then was a prime time to fall down. Flissa's hands caught me before I somersaulted into the wall. "Thank you so much!" She told me, tears streaming down her sooty face.

            "Get to the Chantry," I told her. "It should still be standing- you should be safe there."

            She sniffled, nodded, picked herself up, and ran down the path to the Chantry. I didn't take the time to watch her like I had with Adan and Minaeve- there wasn't time if anywhere else was on fire, and there was the possibility that other people were trapped and needed help getting free.

            I got up and barreled down the path leading in the opposite direction. _Please God, keep everyone safe! Please let everyone get into the Chantry safely!_ I prayed as I ran past Seggrit's shop stall, hearing more screams for help.

            The closest scream I heard seemed to come from a cabin just across the path from Seggrit's shop stall. Coming up to the cabin, the door was blocked by a few fallen crates. My hands flew into action- trying to lift the crates, then trying to push the crates to the side when they proved too heavy for me to lift. The flames had engulfed most of the walls and the roof looked like it was about to give way. Adrenaline pushed through my veins, giving me much needed strength. The crates fell away from the door just enough for me to open it.

            "Hurry! Get out!" I shouted at whoever was inside. When no one came through the door, I poked my head inside. What met my gaze chilled me. A child, no older than six years of age, was caught underneath a pile of debris. Blood pooled around his head from a gouge in his skull. A short sword laid bloody not far from the child. A man was crouching in front of a chest, his hands bloody. It appeared he was having trouble opening the lock of the chest. Either the key kept getting stuck or the man was picking the lock. Fury curled in my gut. Either the man had happened upon the chest after the child had been slain or, more likely, the man had slain the child in order to reach the chest. _How despicable!_ In my fury, I left the man alone. The roof would fall upon him soon. _Let justice be done,_ I told myself silently.

             A sudden shout came from the cabin I had just left. The roof had finally given in to the flames and collapsed. I figured it had probably landed atop of that despicable man. _Please, God, get the innocent to the Chantry. Let the guilty burn._ I now prayed. The Inquisition did not need despicable people like that man within its ranks.

            Another sudden shout sounded, this time from a neighboring cabin. Turning towards it, I saw it, too, had crates blocking the door. _Just how many boxes are there in Haven?! And who thought it'd be a good idea to put boxes near doors?!_

            Without hesitation, I started pulling at the crates. The top crate fell away easily. The next crate was harder to budge. _Just what was in this? It's sooo heavy!!_

            I had to duck away and jump back when the flames ate away the ties holding the roof together causing several beams to crash down to the ground. I watched as the flaming wooden bits that had fallen to the ground caught the crates blocking the door on fire.

            "No!" A soft cry escaped me when the flames spread to the door and wall beyond the crates.

            Another shout came from inside the building. "H'lp me! Please, any'ne!"

            "Jump through the window!" I shouted back.

            "I-I-I can't! 'm stuck!" Came the reply.

            Running over to the window while avoiding the flames as best I could, I gazed into the building. A man - Seggrit? - looked up at me. He was pinned down by some of the roof that had fallen already. The edges of the pile were on fire. Our eyes met. His terror fueled my adrenaline even more. But with the flames as they were, there was nothing I could do to help him.

            "There are crates blocking the door! I can't move them!" I shouted to him. It did nothing to ease his terror. "Please, can't you move the debris off?"

            "I can't! I-It's too heavy!" He shouted at me. _It doesn't look too heavy... but I don't know how strong Seggrit is... What do I do?!  _To prove his claim, he wiggled around to no avail.

            A creak from above me caught my attention. One of the ropes holding a wall beam to the roof was burning away to nothing. Making a split decision, I jumped backwards (surprisingly I did actually jump backwards rather than doing another awkward lurch like I had done earlier). Not even a scant second later, the beam collapsed and landed right where I had been standing. Shortly after that, the roof collapsed down into the cabin, directly onto where Seggrit was trapped. The fire blocked my view of him, but I heard his terrified shouts morph into pained screams.

            " _NO!!_ " I cried out. There was nothing I could do anymore to help, but that didn't mean I wanted Seggrit to die. I paced back and forth in front of the cabin, trying to figure out a way to help him, even though I knew it was hopeless. Slowly his pained screams dwindled into silence, and the wretched smell of burning flesh reached my nose. The hand not holding the frying pan flew to cover my mouth before I lurched to the side and vomited.

            Blankly staring down at the mess I had made, I didn't notice the snow crunching nearby. Nor did I notice the shadow nearing my position. It wasn't until the chirping, hair-raising crackle of a lightning spell that I even realized I was no longer alone by the burning cabin.

            Whipping around, I saw the purple light of the lightning spell. My eyes widened in alarm. A small pebble hit the mage's hand and knocked off her aim. The lightning spell, instead of frying me alive, went charging off into the burning cabin beside (and behind) me.

            Once the mage realized what had happened swung the staff around and proceeded to thrust its blade towards me. At the gleam of the staff blade, my muscles decided that moment to seize and freeze- unwilling to move.

             Miraculously I was not impaled by the staff blade. But the next jab, the staff blade sliced down my left bicep to my elbow. A pained gasp left me, and suddenly my muscles unlocked, and I was quick to react.

            Turning and bringing up my frying pan, I managed to block the next jab. Somehow I turned the staff blade to the side while rushing towards the mage. My arm struck out and slammed into the mage, knocking her back just enough to swing my frying pan back across her face. She fell into a graceless heap. With nary a thought, I found myself stomping onto her exposed neck until it was a grotesque mess.

            A thwump sounded from behind me, and I whirled around. Another mage woman staggered towards me before lurching limply to the side. Her eyes stared blankly to the right. There was a dagger lodged deep in her back- _Punctured lung? Punctured artery? Where'd the dagger come fr-?_ I confusedly thought to myself.

            Another thwump sounded from the side of me. Turning, I found yet another mage falling into a graceless heap on the snow. This one, however, had a dagger protruding from his temple. ( _Talk about a bad migraine,_ I joked to myself, slightly worried about my mental state if I was making bad jokes at a time like this. There was a time and place for bad jokes, now probably wasn't the best time for them.)

            Following the angle the dagger was tilted towards, I turned just in time to see a brief flicker of a shadow before another mage fell before my feet. Whoever it was seemed adamant on protecting me (or they had absolutely terrible aim and were trying to kill _me_ ), and so I shook myself out of the stunned (or fearful) stupor I had been in, and ran down the pathway leading back towards the Chantry with any enemies falling in death around me. ( _Parting the Red Sea, anyone? No? How about dropping like flies? No? Sigh... still a bad time for bad jokes..._ )

 

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            Panting, I finally made it to the Chantry after having a few more run-ins with enemies. But the Chantry's doors were shut, and they didn't look like they'd be opening again anytime soon, either. Despite that, I raised my fist and knocked on the hard wood. After waiting for several seconds, I knocked again, hoping someone would hear it and open the door.

            But my hope went unanswered.

            A loud shout came from behind me. I whirled around, bringing the frying pan up to block the incoming spell that came from someone a lot closer than their shout had implied. ( _When did they get so close?! And there's no way I should have this level of competence in this body! What the shit happened to give me this much control over the body?!  Holy fuck- he's getting up-!_ )

            Instead of waiting for the male mage to finish regaining his bearings, I rushed towards him, brought my foot up, caught him surprised, and kicked at his knees. As he fell to the ground, I pulled my arm back and struck his face with the frying pan _hard_. His head turned just a bit too far to the left, and his body slumped into an odd position on the ground.

            Breathing hard through my nose ( _and when did it become my nose?_), I eyed him for any indication that he was somehow still alive. When none came, I felt my shoulders slump and relax.

            Looking around, I noticed a lull in the fighting. _Good timing for a short breather,_ I told myself. _Which reminds me: Just how am I so good at moving and fighting in this body? It's not even mine! Although... the Herald knew how to fight, right?_

            Recalling these past two weeks, I realized that _yes_ , the Herald did indeed know how to fight. _So it shouldn't be too much of a stretch that her instincts would still be there even though she's not in control of her body anymore, right? Right! That's probably what happened with the Envy demon! Or... Well... I think that's how the Envy demon controlled the body... So does this mean that I'm like Envy and actually controlling the body like it's mine? Or am I just acting on the Herald's instincts and muscle memory? Or is this body now mine? Ugh! That makes me sound like the Envy demon._ I shuddered. _And what about Envy? Where'd he go? Just what happened at the Breach?_

_Ugh! This is making my head hurt!_ I massaged my temples with my - the Herald's - hands. _Why does this have to be so messy and complicated?_

            Looking around again, I noticed the lull in the fighting had gotten longer. There weren't any enemies nearby at all. Hell, I couldn't even hear anyone nearby. _The fighting must have been pushed back some... Maybe that mystery person is keeping them at bay?_ Thinking about that person was easier to think about, even though I had no more answers for it than my current predicament with how I was controlling the Herald's body. _It isn't as though anyone would want to help me (or the Herald) not die and receive no recognition... for it.... Wait... No recognition??_ I felt a twinge as though I was forgetting something- something important. My teeth caught my bottom lip and chewed on it. _Who wouldn't want recognition for helping the Herald?_ I hummed in concentration. _OH!!!! That one kid in the game! With the hat! What was his name?_

            A flash out of the corner of my eye had my arm (the Herald's arm?) swinging upwards to block an oncoming spell with the frying pan once again. _Did I tell the body to do that or is this just another instinct?!_ With no more time to think, I entered the fray once again. This time, I was just trying to stay alive. (Instincts, muscle memory, or something else, whichever it was, it worked to keep me alive.)

 

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            It wasn't until the fifth enemy mage had engaged me in combat that I remembered the boy with the hat. And quite frankly, it was the fact that the boy himself appeared on my flank that really clued me in to his identity.

            "COLE!!!" I blurted out in realization. The mage I was fighting stumbled, gave me a weird look, and got a dagger to the kidney for not watching his back.

            The boy's - _Cole's_ \- eyes stared straight at me before he just quietly said, "you remembered," before he disappeared once again to capture another enemy unawares.

            With that quiet reply to my outburst came the sudden realization that this was familiar- that these fight scenes were familiar... as though I had already seen them. _How weird..._

            A stinging pain across my back brought me back to the fight happening around me. Stumbling forwards, my grasp on the frying pan tightened, ready to swing across someone's face again. But it was for naught. The mage sent another stinging spell at me and I was ill-prepared for it. My muscles tensed and convulsed angrily. My jaws clicked shut, nearly biting off my tongue. In shuttered glances, I watched the mage advance towards me like a cat stalking a mouse. It was with a jolt that I realized I _knew_ the mage. A bit more haggard and a bit more _real_ than the last time I had seen her, but I'd know her short black bob hair anywhere. _Grand Enchanter Fiona... Holy fuck, I'm actually in the game! OH FUCK!! This is the 'In Your Heart Shall Burn' quest from the game!! Aw, shit! I'm gonna die!! For real this time! Fuuuuu-_

            Fiona raised her staff high above her head. She brought it down against the snow covered ground in a shower of sparks that arced towards me. Trying to scramble backwards, my limbs refusing to move properly, I could only stare in horror at my apparently imminent death. The sparks connected with my shoes and arced away.

            A bark of laughter escapes me as I realize the bottom of my shoes must be covered in either rubber ( _who knew they'd have rubber soled shoes here!)_ or shock-resistant runes. My muscles finally stopped convulsing from her first spell, and I was quick to put more distance between us. I did not want to get anywhere close to Fiona; I was sure I would not live long if she managed to hit me with another spell again.

            Thinking mid-battle wasn't the best idea I'd ever had, but it was necessary in this case to figure out just where exactly I was. In the game, the Herald only encountered Fiona when trying to aim the last trebuchet. Glancing around showed that that piece of information was accurate. I was already fighting at the last trebuchet, although I didn't quite remember getting here. ( _More instincts? Or something else? Gaaaah! This is so weird!_ ) And I was already close to the aiming mechanism, too. I just needed a distraction to keep Fiona and her mages busy...

            "Aim. Now." Was all I heard before a hand gently pushed me towards the trebuchet. Taking that as the hint it was, I obeyed.

 

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            I did not know how long I turned the trebuchet, nor did I know how I would know it was properly aimed, but when an icicle flew past my head, narrowly missing my ear, I knew I was out of time. Ducking down and whirling around, I caught sight of Cole digging his daggers into a mage only to have two more mages gang up on him.

            "Watch out!" I called out to him. He disappeared in a cloud of smoke at just the nick of time so the two mages ganging up on him ended up sending spells on each other instead. ( _Well... like they say, 'two birds, one stone',_ was my thought.) That took care of the closest mages and gave me a bit of time to search for another weapon beyond the frying pan. I had no disillusions that I would survive this encounter with just a frying pan. Just because that had worked in fanfiction didn't mean it would work now in this life-or-death situation I found myself in.

            Squinting against the bright snow, I got lucky in finding a fallen Inquisition soldier with a dagger in its sheathe ready for the taking. A sharp twinge tugged in my chest when I yanked the dagger from the soldier. It wasn't that I was squeamish around dead bodies (I was), but rather that I felt guilty for robbing a soldier of his weapon (even if he was dead and not likely to ever use it, and even if I'd done worse in-game before).

            I switched the frying pan over to my left hand and grasped the dagger with my right hand. I felt just a tiny bit ridiculous, but if it kept me alive, I'd do what it took. Which was just as well when another icicle flew past my head. I'd stayed in one place for too long. It was time for me to rejoin the fight, anyway. _Maybe Cole can 'switch' with me and turn the trebuchet?_

 

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            It felt like an eternity later when I felt another gentle hand pushing me towards the trebuchet. I obeyed that hand with shaking legs.

 

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            It was too soon to leave the trebuchet- I hadn't even turned it as much as the first time! But it wasn't up to me to decide when to quit. The mages at my back had that privilege. And they were demanding another fight with me. Who was I to deny them?

_Switch?_

 

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            "Just a little more," was all I heard as I ran for cover. Nodding my head, not even sure anyone would be there to see it, I kept fighting.

 

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            _Switch?_ Surely, it had been long enough so I could turn the trebuchet again. Surely? Maybe?

            My inattention cost me.

            One of Fiona's mage guards flanked me while the other knocked the frying pan from my grip. It knocked me off balance, exposing my back to the first guard. He did not waste the opportunity; no one ever mentioned that encountering a stunning spell so close would be so powerful or hurt quite so much. Distantly, I wondered if this was how the _Cruciatus_ curse from _Harry Potter_ felt. If it felt anything like having every nerve ending shooting off fireworks throughout all the body, it was no wonder why it caused people to go insane.

            I was ruing the moment I thought I was safe to get distracted in a fight such as this.

            My ruing only worsened when another mage sliced across my torso with her staff blade. A pained scream escaped past my lips quickly followed by stuttered gasps as another stunning spell caught my left shoulder. My arms and legs were flailing about with no control from me. Vaguely I caught sight of blood arcing upwards around me, but I had no idea if it was my own blood or if I had managed to catch one of the mages surrounding me with the dagger in my hand. (How I managed to still have a hold on that dagger was beyond me.)

            As soon as the effects from the stunner spell wore off, I wasted no time in lurching towards the closest mage. I slashed at her robes, unsuccessful in wounding her. With another lurch towards her, however, proved fruitful in how my dagger sliced up along her neck, blood spraying down onto me. She stumbled backwards, and I followed her down. I scrambled onto her and kept slashing at her- slashing anywhere I could reach. Blood arced with each new slash. My hands were positively red by the time I realized she was no longer fighting me. (Probably the rest of me was red by that time, too.) I leaned over the mage, panting deeply. Never had I ever so brutally hurt someone (at least, not physically). In a way it was freeing, but mostly, it was just terrifying. I already never wanted to do something like this ever again.

            My breathing slowed down, and I noticed for the first time just how _quiet_ it was. It was almost as though everyone had been killed. Or, well, knocked unconscious, at the least. Which wasn't too far off the mark, actually. My eyes took in the sight of so many mages laying on the ground, either crumpled in awkward positions or slumped against the fence with such peaceful expressions on their faces.

            The only mage left standing was Grand Enchanter Fiona. Her furious expression said it all. Either she was going down or I was.

            Shifting my weight back to my feet, I streaked across the battlefield towards Fiona while she prepared yet another spell. This time, the spell sparked red, and distantly I realized it was a fire spell. Not having time to change my direction, I ducked underneath the spell, before continuing to charge towards Fiona. If she expected me, her face didn't show it.

            Sliding to a stop right in front of Fiona as she readied another fire spell, my right arm slashed upwards across her torso. Blood sprayed following the upwards strike, coating me in yet another layer of blood.

            Fiona staggered back. Her foot caught upon a most random (but well-placed) rock and caused her to stumble at the same time I pressed my advantage and swung my dagger back across her chest. Fiona's body jerked with the momentum of the strike, forcing her body to twist as she fell to the ground. Instead of waiting for her to prepare another spell, I brought my dagger down to her throat and with all the weight of my borrowed body, I pushed my dagger all the way to the hilt into her windpipe.

            She gurgled and blood splattered all over her chin and neck, and all over my hands. There was so much blood, but I didn't let up on the crushing weight. Not even when I heard a far away scream. Not even when her eyes stopped glistening and glazed over. Not even when that far away scream turned into choked sobs.

            It wasn't until a gentle hand touched my right shoulder, that I realized _I_ was the one sobbing.

            It wasn't until that gentle hand pushed me towards the trebuchet that I realized I now had the time to finish aiming it. Releasing my hold on the dagger, I stumbled to my feet and staggered my way to the trebuchet. Just as my hands gripped the turning mechanism, a quiet "Wait for my signal before firing," came from over my right shoulder. I slowly glanced over my shoulder to ask what the signal was, but Cole was already gone. I only hoped I would recognize his signal in time to fire the trebuchet.

 

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            The turning mechanism only turned so far after awhile and didn't budge anymore. I assumed that meant it was ready for firing. Just had to wait now for that signal, whatever it was. I was hoping it would be a flaming arrow like it had been in the game, but since only a few people even knew I was still alive, I doubted it'd be the same signal as the game.

            I sighed as I waited. It wasn't as though I could actually leave. Well, I could, probably. It just didn't quite sit well with me. After all that work and after all that death, it wouldn't be right to just leave. What if Corypheus found the townspeople in the mountains- or worse, what if his minions did? No. I had to stay the course of the game, if only to bring some semblance of peace to my mind. (And what a laugh that was- _me_ caring for others after being stuck by myself and entertaining only myself for those some odd days? What a fucking joke. And yet... I quite sincerely did not want any more death to come down upon those townspeople I had helped get to the Chantry. To be frank, I hoped Adan, Minaeve, Flissa, everyone had made it out... _What a weird thing to feel. I even hope Eggy made it out alright despite everything..._ )

            Sighing again, I noticed the slight tremor in my limbs. Those damned stunning spells really did a number on me. Who knew those spells would still be affecting me. (Not me. I certainly had _no idea_. But now I feel especially awful for Frank and Alice Longbottom from _Harry Potter_.)

            Being alone for a moment truly brought my actions to the forefront of my mind. Especially when those actions had resulted in someone's death. Especially when those I had killed were right in front of me. My stomach was uneasy, to say the least. Games were never good at showing the after-effects of killing someone. But this wasn't just a game anymore, so why did I still think it was?

            However, if things followed the questline, it wouldn't be too much longer before Corypheus appeared with his dragon. But the reminder wasn't a fantastic distraction from the bodies on the battlefield. If anything, it just made it worse. It just reminded me of all the ways the Herald had failed the mages, the templars, the townspeople, and the Inquisition. And now _I_ was the Herald, supposedly, and would have to convince everyone that I was _always_ the Herald. It made my head hurt thinking about it.

            _Ssssscchhhhrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieee_

            _Oh, Look, it's the Corypheus dragon screech. How nice of him to finally fucking make it._ I sarcastically humored myself. _But time to run! Don't wanna get hit by any undead dragon fire! Burny! Burny! Fire! Fire!_ I thought as I quickly ran towards the path leading back into Haven.

            I didn't get far before the dragon hurled nasty, undead, red lyrium breath at me. It knocked me as off balance as it had the Herald in the game. It was very disorienting. I decided right then I would much prefer never having to experience it again. Ever.

            Turning my head back towards the trebuchet, I saw a figure walking out of the burning bits of wood. (How the trebuchet remained unaffected by the fire was beyond me... Maybe it had magical protection runes on it?)

            The figure was, in fact, the big and scary Corypheus. He was definitely taller and scarier than the game ever fully portrayed. His face was just about as ugly though. ( _Brownie points to the game makers?_ )

            He strode right up to me, reached out, grabbed my arm, and pulled me up. It _hurt._ He didn't pick my uninjured arm, oh no. He had to pick up my left arm in a bone breaking grip to inspect the Mark. _Why couldn't he have asked nicely?! He could've gotten so much more done if he had just asked nicely for things!_ I furiously griped in my head. Each jerk of his arm as he spoke sent a new wave of tingling nerves down my arm. It really, really, _really hurt._

            I supposed I really ought to have listened to his monologue, but after playing the game for so long and so many times, it got really boring to hear the same old thing each time. The real monologue happening right now was not any better than the in-game version.

            He even had the audacity to throw me against the trebuchet, too. It seemed that Corypheus's personality was the same as in-game, at the least. Just made it possible to not listen to his monologue and still know what he was spouting off. ( _Just how long does he monologue for, anyway?_ )

            I was just about ready to tell him to _shut up_ when I caught sight of a lone flaming arrow above the treeline. My lips widened into a smile. _Finally!_

            When the pause in Corypheus's monologue came, I hesitated only a moment before saying, "Hmm? Did you say something?"

            The expression of pure rage on Corypheus's face nearly had me shitting myself before I was kicking the firing mechanism and then running like Hell towards where the mining shaft was located. _Soooo worth it!_ Was my last thought before everything went dark.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as long as the last chapter, I know, but this is what felt right so this is it. Hope you enjoyed it! Til next time! And Happy New Year!


	5. Dammit Jim!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to jennserr and showing what happened with the Inquisition and townspeople while the Herald was busy.  
> Just putting it here incase it's not made clear in the chapter: I feel like half of the Inquisition would have made it out- all of the important people made it, but only half of the recruits made it and only half of Haven made it out. Whatever nobles had been visiting, only two or three of the servants had made it out- including Vivienne's servants- only two or three of hers made it out. Also I feel like it would take them a few days and nights to get to the mountain pass, especially with a blizzard happening and needing to stop to deal with the dead every so often. So, please, keep that in mind for this chapter.  
> Lots of POVs in this one. Next one we'll get back to the Herald. Thank you for sticking it out with me this far. I really appreciate each kudo, comment, and bookmark.

 

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            Cole picked out a slender arrow from the Nightingale's quiver and walked over to the warm fire. It had been built and lit to quickly warm and feed what remained of the Inquisition. (It wasn't huge anymore, but it wasn't small either.) The fire was a round pit with rocks forming as the barrier between it and people's toes. Cole thought it was a bit odd- no one was cold enough to risk putting their toes into the fire, but people were odd sometimes. Like the Herald. She was odd now. No longer was she so bright it hurt to look at her, but her hurts went far beyond what the demon had wrought. But that was a thought for another time. He had a purpose to do right now. And he needed to do it before he got lost in everyone around him.

            He had to wait for a small child to get sufficiently warm before he could stick the arrowhead into the fire. It took a moment for the arrow to alight but before he could even hope to fire the arrow into the air towards the sky, the fire quickly ate up the arrow and Cole was left with ashes in his hands.

            A pained gasp of despair left him. He didn't think anyone had heard him- he didn't think he was seeable, but apparently he was and someone heard him and-

            "Are ye alright, lad?" Came the strong Starkhaven accent. Cole turned to him and saw a rugged face with dark stubble staining the man's strong jaw. The man had facial tattoos that had _hurt_ getting but no longer hurt.

            Cole opened his mouth to say, _yes_ , but instead he answered, "Maker, please don't let us die out here, please don't let us die to this. Maker, did someone remember the Herald? Where's the Herald? Is she safe- please don't let her die."

            The Starkhaven man stared at him, aghast. "How? Who are-"

            "She's in danger. Red all around. Pain in hand. Wretched face- what a face- only a mother could love- so ugly. Is it time yet? When do I fire this thing? When- We need to fire an arrow. With fire." Cole responded. It wasn't what he had meant to say but it would do the job. There was no time to redo it anyway.

            "Fire an arrow? That's what ye are tryin' to do?" The Starkhaven man asked, rubbing his strong jaw. "Ye'll need some oiled arrows. Let's see if that daft lass has any on her."

            Cole followed the Starkhaven man - Rylen - to the daft lass - Sera. Rylen proceeded to ask Sera if she had any oiled arrows and she handed one over. Her confusion was obvious, even to Cole, but she did as asked so she wasn't too bad of a person. She just wanted to help without it hurting.

            Cole grabbed the arrow from the- from _Rylen_ and returned to the fire. Once the tip of the arrow was in the fire, it lit up quickly, and Cole turned to the archer next to him.

            "Fire this. Quickly. Above the trees." He told the archer - _Jim_.

            "Wha-" Was Jim's wide-eye response. Where did-

            "Fire. Above the trees. Now." Cole urged.

            Jim, not sure why he was following the strange boy's urging, but not seeing why he shouldn't do as asked, took the burning arrow, aimed his bow nigh directly at the sky above them, and fired the arrow. It shot up into the sky like a fiery beacon, and well, Jim supposed that _that_ was exactly what it was. _But who was it a beacon for?_ He wondered just before the wrath of the Nightingale bored down onto him for daring to shoot a signal shot that the enemy could see. Jim regretted not thinking of such a thing before, but somewhere deep within him, he couldn't seem to bring himself to hate himself for doing such a dangerous maneuver. Jim wondered at that; just _why did he not hate himself for alerting the enemy to their whereabouts?_ The feeling persisted that he had done something good and _right_ , even when everyone was forced to pack up, put out the fire, and continue on their way up through the mountains. Jim didn't understand it, but it felt _right_.

            Cole smiled to himself from his hidden spot on the back of a wild druffalo whom had also fled Haven during the attack. The Herald would be okay- she _knew_ she would be, so Cole knew she would be, too. He just hoped the rest of the Inquisition would hold out hope for just a little longer. Cole just knew everything would be okay.

 

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            "This way! Don't wonder off! Stay together!" Was the mantra every templar was repeating to what remained of the Inquisition as they journeyed through the mountains. They only prayed their yells weren't heard by anyone downwind of them. But then again, with the raging blizzard behind them, they doubted anyone would have even understood any yelling, much less actually heard it.

            Ser Barris stood off on his own out of the way of the procession of what remained of the Inquisition. In his opinion, it seemed only half of the Inquisition remained alive. He wasn't too sure about how many townspeople had made it out, but he surmised it wasn't a huge number. Of all the people trekking through the mountains, it seemed the majority were nobles. Of course that could have just been because the nobles had been the nearest to the Chantry when the attack had happened (which now that he thought about it was suspicious- why would the nobles all be congregated so closely to the Chantry when they should've been celebrating down in the tavern like the rest of the damn town?), Ser Barris clenched his jaw and tried to reign in his temper. Now was not the time for it.

            They had already camped out twice since that idiot Scout had fired that flaming arrow. What had driven that Scout to such a thing was beyond him, but he hoped with a vindictive hope that the Scout had paid for such a mistake. (He was not vindictive because of his own imprisonment over the Herald's possession, he was not, he kept telling himself so.) (He was, he just refused to admit it.) He had seen Sister Leliana bearing down on the Scout, so he supposed the Scout had been disciplined, after all. It didn't mean he felt any better about it, though.

            Just as this cold wasn't cooling his temper any. _Maker_ , he hoped, _I hope we stop sometime soon to get out of the storm._

 

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            It was already the third time they'd set up camp. More and more people were dropping into the snow never to wake again. Cullen wasn't sure how much more of this the Inquisition could take before it was just the Inquisition upper echelon left. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. None of this would matter if the enemy caught up to them. _Maker_ , he prayed, _I hope nothing comes out of that blasted Scout and his stupid flaming arrow._

            A groan from his left brought his attention back to the camped out Inquisition. He stooped low to offer a hand to the struggling soldier. "Let's get you to the healers," he murmured. A stilted nod was all the response he got. _Maker, let us survive this!_

 

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            Josephine had her hands full, quite literally. This particular noblewoman was convinced she could no longer walk and required help. This normally wouldn't be an issue. Normally Josephine would have asked either Leliana or Cullen if one their own could help this noblewoman get to where she was headed. But this wasn't normal. And it certainly wasn't normal circumstances. Instead, they were stuck on this forsaken mountain who-knew-where and the noblewoman's tent was just across the way from the Advisors' tent. It was a perfectly tame amount to walk by herself. Why she deemed Josephine worthy of being her steed was beyond her and Josephine was so very close to being completely done. The thought of just dumping the noblewoman in the snow was a tempting one.

            Shortly after that thought, though, Josephine found herself free from her burden and a feeling that she should go check in with Leliana before another noble decided she was available for them to harass. With that in mind, Josephine turned on her heel and marched back into the Advisors' tent and checked in with Leliana.

 

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            Wherever this goblet full of wine and honey kept appearing from was mildly alarming, but Leliana thought it might have been Scout Jim trying to make up for his thoughtless action however many days ago it had been. No sign of anything had come from it, thus far, but Leliana was vigilant that something _would_. So she stayed vigilant and kept her scouts out on constant patrols.

            At least the raging blizzard was behind them, now. They were safe for the moment from that. And it would cover any tracks they had inadvertently left behind so it would be difficult to track their movements. Small mercies. She thanked the Maker for such small mercies. But thinking about the Maker only reminded her of Andraste and in turn, the Herald of Andraste. _What had become of her? Had she perished like so many these last few nights?_ Leliana had no answers and the reporting scouts had nothing to offer, either. It set her teeth on edge to have such little information coming in.

            Another goblet of wine and honey appeared onto her table. Quickly whirling around with the intent to catch the culprit, she turned her angry eyes onto Josie. Seeing Josie so worn down calmed her temper a bit. With a sigh, she welcomed her friend back into the warmth of the tent. It seemed the culprit of the wine would be a mystery for another day.

 

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            Adan, Flissa, and Minaeve sat huddled together around a fire. Everyone around them had learned to ignore them. After all, what they spoke of couldn't be true. It was one thing to realize they had all forgotten their Herald in the rush to leave Haven. It was another thing entirely to realize that the Herald had awoken and _fought_ while they ran. It was a touchy subject for those around them, and yet. And yet, they found themselves still speaking in hushed whispers to each other. Whispering whether they believed the Herald was still alive. It made sense- why else would that one Scout fire a flaming arrow into the sky other than to be a signal to the Herald. It _must've_ been a signal _for_ the Herald!

            While everyone else around them ignored their whisperings, they continued to hope that their beloved Herald hadn't just saved them, but had saved them _all_ , and would return to them after the blizzard had past.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter! 'Til next time!


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